#red dead redemption fanfiction

[rdrshootist]

Good good boy ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

Appreciation post for Cain bcs I hardly see any pics of him (•ᴖ•｡)

[shittybundaskenyer]

✹ ▬   𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

rating: Explicit pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader summary: it’s been half a year since you’ve last seen Arthur, and as you finish the last empty page of the journal he gifted you, a lone rider shows up down in the valley on a familiar, silver-dappled mare. warnings: high honor Arthur, reader is an artist herself, and very lonely, touch-starved, porn with feelings (and minimal plot), i’m not gonna lie 5k of this is just pure smut, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, love confessions, Arthur being a sweetheart, a little angst and emotional hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending word count: 8457  

a/n: i finally finished that wip i started cooking up during uni crunch time, but i’m proud to announce that i finished my master’s in graphic design and i’m finally fucking free of uni. it was a very depressive part of my life, i got completely burnt out in mind and soul too, so writing and drawing was more like a burden than something i enjoy. but now, now i’m so full of new passions, especially towards writing that i couldn’t wait to finish up this piece. i also want to thank everyone who came by to read my stuff even though i haven’t posted anything since like last october or something, love you all! (also special thanks to @wintersongstress​ bc you kept me going whenever you said a few kind words) <3

MASTERLIST   |   ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

In the spring Big Valley blooms.  

Fireweed and balsamroot and irises, blue and purple and the prettiest shades of yellow and pink, dotting the landscape like careful brushstrokes of a painter’s handiwork. The earth is alive here, black and red from the fallen fir and pine needles, with mushrooms and bugs hiding under the rotting, fallen logs. 

It’s a beautiful morning—pink from the rising mist and the early sunlight.

You sit on the porch of your small cabin, its wood creaking as a gentle breeze sweeps over the surrounding forest. Songbirds confess their love above, chirping a sweet melody that sings to your heart just the same. You finish your coffee and place the worn tin cup on the windowsill behind you, leaning back in your chair to pick up your journal. 

It’s almost full now; barely a few empty yellowed paper is left. You turn another page, sketch the shape of an eagle with the last chunk of your pencil, so small you can barely hold it right. It’s been many months since Arthur gifted it to you.

It’s been months you’ve seen him the last time too. 

Your heart aches a little when the orioles begin another love-song in your small garden. A sweet smell reaches you, a late-blooming wild cherry tree, its honey lulling in bees and birds and flies and the first butterflies of the year. You draw them too, detail their wings and hair and the tiny spikes covering their legs. With shaky, unladylike handwriting you write their names there too. 

WESTERN TIGER SWALLOWTAIL

MONARCH

WILD DOVE

As you write the last word, your hand lingers over the drawing, then on the freshly pressed forget-me-not on the other page, it’s blue seeped into the paper around it like a watered up, inky halo.

Little dove. Arthur's name for you.

Christ, you miss him. 

Worry clawed under your ribs for so long you no longer feel the ache. You know what kinda life he lives, what he does in the name of survival, the largest devil. You still like him. You still feel anxious every time you go into the town post office and realize that there’s no letter nor telegram from him. He’s been… kind to you. Real kind, even though no one else was. 

You draw in a slow breath and flip the pages back right to the first one. It’s crumpled a little from all the time you’ve returned to it before. A simple sketch faces you, the lines and shading so different from your own, patches of light and shadows adding together a face that stares at you every time you look in a mirror. All the imperfections, all the ugliness and beauty your likeness wears, all the messy hair and sparkling eyes he’s grown to know. 

Little dove, says a handwritten line under the portrait. Draw me all the other beauties of this land.

You did. Christ, you did it all and he’s still away.

You sigh, fold the journal and wipe your hand in your skirt. It’s still muddy from all the work you’ve done in the garden after you've awoken, so you don’t mind a bit of graphite there too. 

The journal returns to its palace on the windowsill, beside the coffee cup and a pack of cigarettes. 

Big Valley turns into shades of gold as the sun rises above the treeline, illuminating the wet dirt roads that twist below like giant snakes. You take a deep breath and rise to meet the day. There's a prickling warmth on the line of your spine, a trail of goosebumps that make your breaths come out shaky. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it's fate. 

You stop, halfway turned to the door already, and a rider appears on the winding paths in the distance. 

You stand and you watch, frozen in place as the familiar silver-dappled mare canters closer and closer, its rider swaying in her saddle, one hand grasping the reins and the other dangling lazily beside his body. Black hat, a worn leather coat, sky blue shirt and shining spurs. You don’t have to see his eyes to recognize the sun on horseback. 

After a few moments he halts the mare before your cabin, her breath puffing against his hand as he pets her forehead after swinging himself down from the saddle. “Good girl.” 

You grow weak in the knees, lip trembling as you suck in a hasty breath. Do all wishes come to fruition if one draws it enough times? Do paper, words and shaky lines have this much power?

He walks up the first two steps of your porch, taking off his hat to reveal golden brown locks, long and messy now, wet with sweat and yesterday's rain still dripping from the trees.

There’s a moment of silence when your eyes meet. 

A moment of truth when he says your name. 

You open your mouth, then close it. There’s so much you want to say, so much you feel, yet the only sentence that leaves your lips is, “You've come just in time for breakfast.”

*

The silence is awkward at first when you pour him the remaining lukewarm coffee, and even more when you prepare breakfast and lay out everything on your small dining table. Your bed is unmade, there’s mud stuck on the doormat, your laundry stacked in a high pile in the corner and all the dried herbs from last autumn hang low from the ceiling of the single room cabin. 

Your home is as much a mess as you are, but it’s well lived-in, like a body. A shell housing a soul. 

Arthur doesn’t mind. Never did.

“Is this the wrong time?” he asks when you cut fresh onion leaves on a plate, still dewy from the morning mist that rolled over the valley. The knife stops in your hand. You can hear him breathing, calm, even exhales, yet it feels like he’s not even real. 

“No,” you press out, uncertain in your own thoughts, and you keep cutting the leaves until they’re nothing more than a fleck of green pulp on the white porcelain. You don't even realize when he stops you. You just feel the unusual warmth, radiating from around the back of your palm, through your whole arm, until something wild and ancient flickers alive in your ribcage. 

“Are ya alright?” The calloused hand retreats and the knife falls from between your fingers. 

“I—” you swallow, throat suddenly dry and choked with tears at the same time, “half a year is a long time.”

He closes his eyes and hangs his head. ‘Course it is. You thought he was dead. You thought he got taken to prison and they hanged him like a dog. 

The food remains untouched as he swipes a hand over his jaw and takes a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. You watch him, still cautious, taking a mental note of every little change. A small scar freshly healed on his cheek. His beard longer, a bit messy. His eyes oh so tired, like he hasn't slept in days. 

“You want me to go? I get it if ya have a husband now an’ I don’t want to cause tr—”

“No!” you almost shout, panicked, and his gaze searches your face. Why do you behave so goddamn strange? You wanted him here for months! You wanted him, wanted— “Jesus, there’s no husband, okay?”

The corner of his lips curl upwards a little at that. Crow's feet crinkle in the corners of his eyes. Those tiny laughing-lines around his nose move.

“I guess I just… I’ve been alone for a long time,” you sigh and force down a bite of cheese-topped bread. Your stomach protests loudly, it wants to escape the hunger or the nerves, you can’t decide yet. 

Arthur takes that as a sign to take a bite from his food too, and you know he's hungry. As you watch you realize how tired he is. How worn—like a saddle neglected in care and used until the leather cracked, then split. He eats up the whole slice of bread before you manage to take your second bite. 

The awkward quiet persists, gets stronger even, but there's so much to say and so little courage you can muster. 

He’s the one who finally runs a bloody knife through the silence.

“Did ya draw for me?”

There’s a distant longing in his voice that’s almost crystal clear. You nod, the nerves tangled in your belly easing. He remembers, he knows. He wants to see.

You bring in the small book from the porch while he finishes his food, and he’s already lighting a cigarette when you arrive and lay the leather-bound pages in front of him. He smiles at how worn it looks, how much fingerprint-stained page edges are littered throughout the journal. It’s well-loved, and well lived-in too. 

You silently watch as he flips through a few pages, tracing a finger over bucks and birds and butterflies, over the scratchy sketch lines you immortalized nature with. The Grizzlies covered in snow. Clovers and mushrooms. Your home with opened windows and flowers hanging in pots from the roof of the porch. 

“I’m sorry I missed all this,” he says softly, looking up at you like you’re the sun and the moon and the whole world. So fond, so tender it makes you ache for something that never can be yours. “I’m sure this place is pretty in the winter.”

You nod. You don’t tell him about almost freezing to death when the storms rolled in from the mountains in the spring. You don’t tell him about the roaming gangs either, about the bastards camped at the Hanging Dog ranch or the man who got eaten by a bear in his own home. This is a dream world. A valley that can be as easily a good dream as it can be a nightmare. You want it to be a good dream for him. An escape. You know what life he lives. What he runs from. 

“It’s even prettier now,” you finally answer, watching him reading your messy handwriting beside the drawings. Forget-me-not. White clover. Blue iris. “Spring came very late, everything is still blooming.” You bite into your lip and after a few seconds you ask, “wanna see?”

Arthur looks up at you and something flickers in his eyes. Maybe hope. He nods, puts out his cigarette, dusts off his hat and puts it back on his messy hair. 

“Only if you let me draw ya again.”

*

Everything around you buzzes and dances and it’s full of life, the valley, the word ‘spring’ written by the hand of Mother Earth in flowing rivers of wildflowers and overgrown grass. Orioles chirp not far away, singing another lulling love-song, matching the rhythm a creek makes above, crystal clear meltwater digging its course from stone and black earth towards south. 

Arthur stands a bit farther away from you, with his journal and a piece of charcoal in hand, putting the scenery to paper in blacks and greys and negative spaces. Or you think he’s drawing the Grizzlies and forests and farms littered down in the valley like mushrooms popping from the ground after a lukewarm summer rain. 

But instead, he draws you.

The crown of flowers sitting atop your head—the girls at camp taught him how to make one, he said, smiling. The arch of your lips. The shadow of your lashes. The tangles in your hair, the dirt on your skirt, the sun glinting in your eyes. 

When he’s done he walks back to you, flops down into the grass beside you to show you his work. The scenery really is just the background. Hasty, faint lines of mountain-spines and plants that curl towards the sun. But you, you’re detailed like an oil painting, from the wrinkles in your dress to the imperfections of your face. 

“You wanted to draw the land, ain't ya?” you ask him, knowing, smiling at him as he slips his charcoal into the cord on his hat. He gives you a lopsided smirk, then wipes his hands on the rough fabric of his jeans.

“I just found something so much more pretty,” he looks into your eyes when he says that and it burns like how maybe the sun’s surface would burn. You know there’s a blush rising through your neck, up to your cheeks, and you hope he thinks it’s from the warmth of the day. But he would be a fool to believe that. 

“Are ya tryin’ to flirt with me?” you feel like a child. A giddy girl getting her first carved wood pony to play with. You never believed him when he told you you were beautiful. You couldn’t. Yet here, now, in the all-revealing sunlight he seems like his words are genuine. Much more pretty.

He leans back on his hands, the sun caressing his face when he finally takes off his hat. His laughing-lines crinkle. 

"Do ya remember last year, when you gave me a kiss?"

If you haven't been burning up, you certainly are now. Something wild and primal stirs in your belly, something that’s very close to want and need. Of course you remember. Of course you can’t forget the way you leaned in and gave him a little peck on the lips, a bare press just because his plump lips looked so goddamn kissable and because you were so goddamn drunk. It doesn’t mean you didn’t want to do it sober. You just didn’t have the courage. But with amber whiskey in your stomach and his hand on your knee you couldn't be stopped. It was the day he left. The last day you’ve seen him alive until now.

You nod and look away. You don’t want to think about a dark future when Arthur wants to talk about kissing you. Jesus Christ.

“I wanted to draw your lips ever since then. Sometimes I did when I dreamt about you. Always smiling, always with flowers in your hair. But I never got it right.”

“I never thought you was a romantic, Mr. Morgan,” you’re truly blushing now, breaking the eye-contact, and picking at your nails instead because hearing this is a lot. The man you were waiting for months, the man you thought you loved and was dead, now sits here beside you, making poetry bubble in your chest. An oriole sings there too, trapped by ribs and muscle, red like the rising sun. 

“I— I’m never good with words,” he shrugs, picking on a blade of grass between his fingers. “Ya know I never was.”

You smile at him, still flushed. 

“But I thought about the time we spent together in the past and I… I realized I was happy with ya.”

What is this if not a confession?  

You reach for him. Slowly, like one would comfort a spooked horse, sliding your palm over his scarred knuckles until the grass he was twirling falls to the ground. He watches your hands on each other, yours so small and mostly soft compared to his large, battle-worn fingers. 

"I was happy with ya too," you whisper, so damn afraid yet you know he said it first, it must mean something—

He looks at you, looks right through you, gazes into the deepest depths of your soul where you already carved a space for him months ago. He looks at you and he knows this is not some sick joke, that your mutual attraction was not some mirage you chased for so long. 

He leans in and the world falls dead quiet. His breathing, shaky and unsure and deep, the only sound you can concentrate on as he nudges your nose with his own. Right where you left off half a year ago. Right where you imagined this in every dream. 

You nuzzle him, brush your lips against the corner of his mouth, his beard prickling and coarse, but his parting lips are soft, gently cupping your own between them, slow and careful and so goddamn sweet. He moves, hands reaching for you as you try to deepen this embrace, reciprocating the kiss, turning your body towards his. His fingers land in your hair, getting caught on the tangles like trouts on a net, and he cups your cheek with his other hand, so warm, it's like the sun is cradled in his palm. 

Maybe you're his sun. Maybe he's yours.

The kiss turns needy after a while, tongues dart out and teeth nip gently on plump, rosy lips. He keeps you close, closer, until your noses are squished together and his hair falls into your eyes and you can feel your lashes tickling his skin. He kisses you like no one ever did. He kisses you like it means something. 

Need awakens inside you with the force of a hundred galloping horses as his hands find your waist, the line of your spine, the collar of your dress, the outwards curve of one breast. They doesn't move further. It doesn't mean you don't want them to. 

Arthur pants against your mouth as you move away, the taste of tobacco and wild cherries still intense on your tongue. 

"Will ya draw me one more time?" you ask quietly, against the side of his face, your words tangling into the wild mess of his beard. 

"How?" you look him in the eye and he already knows, yet you make a show of it as you pull on your dress and slowly bare yourself to him. There's not a soul for miles, no one to disturb this bubble of peace and strawberry champagne haze you made for yourselves so you're not ashamed. And when you discover that wild flame burning in his eyes— 

Your body becomes alive with a meadow consumed by fire, overgrowing and rotting and oozing honey from every pretty flower. You shed your chemise. The shoes. Bloomers come last, already stained with grass and bright yellow pollen. 

You sit nude in front of him, a feast for his hungry eyes, yet he doesn't stare at you for long. He wants to commit this to paper. He wants to see this every day from now on—the curve of your breasts, the wide of your hips, the hair nestled between your legs, the smile you can't keep off of your lips. 

"For the road," you chuckle with a wink, watching how he scribbles away in his journal. "For lonely nights." 

"I could put this up in a gallery and take ya to Paris," he answers with a piece of charcoal in his mouth, smudging the powder on the paper. "Wanna see the world little dove?"

You know it's just gentle banter, but your heart aches the same. You both know it would be impossible. Him leaving this country, his family—a woman is not enough for that. 

"I think I have everythin' I wanna see right in front of me," you smirk, then move, not caring about the drawing anymore, and he doesn't care either, gripping your bare thighs as you rise to settle in his lap.

It's spring and you're a flower, and you bloom too, unfolding your body like petals, legs and arms slowly sliding away to reveal soft flesh. There's no shame when Arthur looks up at you like you're the goddamn sun and the stars and the wind caressing his face. Maybe you are when you reach down and slide a thumb over his brow, the downwards arch of his eyelid when he closes his eyes. Two gorgeous pools of blue-green look up at you when your finger slides lower, over his lips, to dig in and make them part, wet tongue darting out around a small kiss. 

You watch him. His eyes, his mouth. 

His long, golden lashes lower, a dark kind of fire ignited in his gaze, doin’ the only sin he does not regret committing— wanting you.  

He grabs onto your side, the flesh on your hip and stomach, leaves heat in his wake there, large palm-shaped sunspots that ooze light into your bloodstream. Christ, you want him to touch you more. To make you burn, to make you into a flame that needs his tending.

"You're so damn pretty, little dove" he murmurs in that low voice, watching how a single flower of forget-me-not falls from your hair and lands on the top of your breast, trapped in a bead of sweat like a fly in amber honey. 

The back of his head hits the ground, like it's a pillow woven from freshly sprouted grass and wild flowers and wet earth, and he moves you in his lap, lower, where you can feel him, hard and oh so ready but still waiting for your move. 

The spark is ignited. Your sun burns inside your ribcage for this man, a heart shaped from light, and you reach between the two of you to get him rid of his pants. Arthur doesn't move, but he lets you pull up his shirt, over a strong stomach and golden brown hair, over old scars that faded into silvery lines, to a ribcage housing a kind heart. 

"Will ya have me, Arthur?" you lean close to him, your bellies touching, your hand still restless at the buckle of his gun-belt, and he sighs into your hair, hips twitching at your eager request as he leans in to lay a gentle kiss on your temple, then the arch of your eyebrow. 

"'Course, sweetheart," he reaches up, cradles your nape as he curls his other arm around your waist, turning you until the soft earth cradles you like another lover.

Your bare legs fall open as he settles, with his hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing the spot where the broken grass stained it green. You should be shy. Ashamed. Vulnerable. You should clench your thighs tight, feel the need to be modest, yet your body betrays you even further when Arthur places his other hand on your side, making space for himself in the cradle of your hips. 

His shirt is gone. 

You watch him for a few eternal seconds, the way his eyelashes cast starlike shadows over his ruddy cheeks as he gets an eyeful of your flushed cunt. 

"Gonna have to work ya a little," he says, voice low and husky, thumbs drawing circles into your flesh, as if he's soothing a spooked creature. 

There's not enough time to get your fill of his body; the hair-dusted muscles of his chest and arms, the stubble-peppered neck that leads into a strong jawline, the strand of honey brown hair that carefully curls around his ear. You subconsciously nod instead, rapidly, sliding your hand over his own, tugging on his worn knuckles until he's blanketing you with his body. 

Arthur smiles into your hair for a second when his free hand trails up your side, up through the valley of your breasts and the bend of your neck until he can cradle your head, his fingers caressing, thumb parting your lips so when he arrives with his own you're already panting a shivering exhale into his mouth. Yes, kiss me. Conquer my lips. Conquer this monster that is my body. 

He kisses you, softly at first, cupping your upper lip between his, then the bottom one, and then, just then he lets a hot breath mingle with your own before his tongue finds its way around yours. He kisses you with all the need a starving man can feel, suckling on your lips until they are flushed, swollen, his worn thumb sliding over them once more, between gentling pecks of affection and softly opening eyes. He's mesmerized by the sight of you like this, oh so close, oh so pretty in the sunlight. 

You get bold under his stare, curling your fingers into the hair on his nape, into the coarse tangles of his beard before you give him the same treatment he gave you, mapping the plush, hot rise of his bottom lip with your thumb. He kisses the tip of it, then leans in to lay gentle presses on your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. You want to chase him, coax him into another kiss, but he murmurs something against your skin instead, hefting your leg higher at his side, and your belly aches with the burning sun that grows inside it, pressed flush to his. 

"Lemme show ya somethin'," he almost whispers, and he descends downwards, draws a curling vine of blooming ivy in the shape of kisses, at the hollow of your throat, at the top of one breast, then the other. He takes your nipples between the same lips you've kissed mere moments ago, still wet, and he almost makes a show of it when a surprised moan slips out from your chest. 

Arthur commits the shape of you into his memory, counting each rib, each valley and hill your body has, the soft of your stomach when he arrives there, a star-circle of hot lip-presses, and then lower, at the edges of a gentle trail of wiry hair that leads between your wide-open legs, and then just shy of your cunt, a place so sensitive the kiss wrecks your whole body with a shiver. 

He looks up at you for a second, lifting your legs over two strong shoulders, soothing you again with circling caresses on your thigh, even though his eyes are ravenous, chest heaving as he sucks in panting breaths . The want inside you blooms alive. If you could be a forest, you would burn gladly under his hands. 

The idea is no stranger to you, you've read your fair share of off-shelved romance novels, but experiencing such an act transcends every sweet worded description you've ever seen when Arthur makes his intention clear with a look full of promises. 

Not letting you suffer longer, he leans in and softly nuzzles his way between the folds of your cunt; kisses you there. 

Your body grows weak, open, and you helplessly grab into the earth beside you, clawing up dirt and fresh grass, sinking your fingers deep, like you could plant your roots here. A noise escapes you, surprised and breathless, and Arthur mutters encouragement against your mound, " beautiful… ", then strokes his tongue over a spot where nerves meet in a most sensitive bundle. 

He sucks and licks there, kissing your flesh like he had been kissing your mouth, with his eyes almost closed, cheeks flushed and beard scraping your skin. It tickles, it scratches, it makes a flock of burning butterflies flick alive inside your belly, it makes want trickle from your cunt when he arrives there. You feel like you're already unraveling, the foreign pleasure spreading through your body like fungi webbing a forest floor, and at every spot his skin touches you, you bloom.  

Like a meadow. Like a sun.

He hums encouragement, holds your thighs firmer, pushes his tongue against you harder. You try to squirm, hands scrambling, his mouth curling into a smile at your folds, and you moan, freely, maybe the first time in your whole life, just for him. 

He pleasures you so effortlessly, so gladly, and in all the tenderness he offers you feel like you could drown. His mouth is relentless. His kisses even more are. You can't help but wretch open your eyes to look down and find him buried there, in the cradle of your hips, face flushed red and eyes sparkling so pretty when they meet your own. You don't have control over your body anymore. 

You blindly reach for his hair, your head thumping back against the earth, spine arching, shoulders rolling into the dirt. "That's it," he murmurs between suckling kisses, and you grind your cunt up, up into his mouth because Christ, you're almost there. 

Your eyes flicker open, like candle flames, neck curved back, and you can see the Grizzlies like this, snow-capped, glinting like crystals, between blades of green and sky blue iris flowers. Your whole world turns upside-down. 

It's too good—his lips, his tongue, his hot breath fanning against your weeping opening, yet you can't get there, not really, not before Arthur lifts away and the world tries to right itself but turns out all wrong. He is panting, hair messy from all the torture your fingers did on his strands, glinting golden in the sun. 

Your thighs slip away, off his shoulders as he returns to you, hastily wiping his face in the back of his hand, lips already seeking your own, soothing you. He tastes tangy, more salt than sweet, like you, and the forest of emotions threatens to split your ribcage open when he presses his mouth to your temple. 

"What's wrong?" you ask quietly, whisper the question into his opened lips between two tender kisses, and he answers with a breathless "nothin'."

"Have to open ya up," his fingers squeeze you, harder on your side, and he brings his free hand up to his lips, licking his fingers. That same sinful hand returns to your belly, then lower, cupping your whole cunt in his palm before you feel it, the thick finger teasing at your opening, spreading the wetness, and then gently, slowly slipping inside without any resistance. 

Arthur nudges your nose with his own when your eyes flutter closed, lashes tickling his cheek, and he kisses you again, moving his finger inside you, a slow, purposeful stroke. 

"Look at me, little dove," he whisper-commands, curling that finger in, making you gasp into his mouth. "Look at me. Yeah, that's it." He almost smiles when your eyes meet his own, and your belly aches as he pulls out his finger and adds a second. They glide in so easy, you can feel his palm growing sticky against your cunt. You want to be embarrassed, but he just stifles a groan against your neck when your pussy squelches, your pleasure steadily rising with the clever thrusting of his fingers.

Shit, if his fingers feel like this inside you, you can't even imagine how his cock will. 

He builds you up steadily, like a castle, like a temple, like a stairway right to the sun, and he doesn't give you a warning when he crams in another finger, three now, stretching you truly and good, shushing you with his lips, kissing you breathless until your legs yield and shake. 

"That's it," he murmurs, kisses you thoroughly, panting against your lips as your cunt squeezes tight around his fingers. "That's good."

His name escapes your throat, a plea, and you're barely hanging on by a thread now. Arthur is tender in his movements, but not too gentle, making space for himself inside you, making your poor heart flicker and trash under your ribcage like a trapped bird. He kisses you again, with opened lips, tongue clashing with yours, your teeth catching on the side of his face, a right mess, and his fingers slow, then gingerly slide out to lay drenched in your slick on the burning skin of your thigh. 

You whine at the loss. Truly, desperately. Such an unladylike sound, yet it rings sweet against Arthur's neck. 

You feel so empty.

"Shh," he quiets you, then gently grabs your hand, caressing a thumb over your knuckles, and guides it down, over the still buttoned waist of his pants, where his achingly hard cock strains against the fabric. You gasp a surprised "oh" between his lips, but follow his hand eagerly, helping him with the buttons. "Touch me, darlin'."

You do. Jesus, you do.

You worm your hand between the fabric and his feverish skin, mapping out the shape of him with curious touches. Even though you're inexperienced, Arthur's body teaches you what feels good for him without a guiding word. You grasp him, gently at first, and then firmer, and stroke your hand over his cock until your palm curls around the flushed head of him, finding a bead of wetness there. His stomach jumps, muscles tensing against you, his breath hitching sweetly beside your ear when he kisses you there too.

Did he feel a similar curious excitement like you do now, when he stuffed you full of his fingers? 

"You're a natural, sweetheart," he smiles at you, cheeks blooming a pretty red, and you feel his hand returning between your legs, thick fingers pushing inside you again. "Ya think you can take me?"

You can't answer, not at first, too distracted by the stretch, by the burning want that blooms in your belly, by the idea of taking Arthur. You kiss him instead, stroke him faster until he has to break away from you to collect himself. 

"Fuck me," you whisper to him, sweet as wild strawberries, your lips brushing the side of his face and he smiles, truly, teeth and crow's feet and wrinkles and all, and Christ, you want him so much it almost hurts. 

"Now, you really want me to fuck ya?" 

You don't know if he wants to tease, or he's truly concerned about your decision, but you give him a very pointed look, releasing his cock and reaching for his hand that is still pleasuring you, slowly pulling it away until you're empty once more. 

"Arthur," you kiss him again, almost pleading and he can't deny you longer. He worries at your bottom lip for a second, then presses his mouth to your chin. 

"Spread 'em pretty thighs for me then," he murmurs as he comes closer, bracketing the backs of your thighs with his own, and then hefting your legs around his hips. You open yourself willingly, freely, feeling the heat of him oh so close, and you help him a little, push on his jeans until his cock is free, thick and heavy and hard against the inside of your thigh.

It's the first time you see it. It's the first time your cunt clenches on nothing and it makes you desperate. 

"If I hurt ya, say so and I'll stop, alright?" he says as he gives you one last kiss before leaning back and taking a hold of his cock. Christ, you want to watch. To know how he will fit inside you, but the strong bulk of his body blocks your view, sea-colored eyes going half-lidded as he watches your every reaction, sliding against your folds once, twice, and for the third time his fat cock catches on your slick opening. 

You gasp and pull him into a kiss with renewed hunger, and it's perfect to muffle your sounds as he slowly, carefully pushes into you. 

He has maybe an inch or two inside, but you're already feeling like you could burst, like you could rip apart at the seams and bloom into a bed of wildflowers oozing honey over black earth. 

It's— 

It's everything. 

You can feel his heartbeat race against your breast, and you can feel it inside you, lighting you up, making the unfamiliar stretch good, making it divine. You pant into his mouth, let him nuzzle your cheek as he murmurs praise, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw and caress your lips. 

"That's it, good girl," he whispers, as breathless as you, and you feel him move, deeper, making way for himself when there's barely any. It hurts and it doesn't. Aches like a good day of riding in the sun. Warm. Stretched. A funny sway in your head when it's over. A pleasure-pain so perfect you never want him to stop. "Ya fit me like you was made for me."

"Christ," you hiss, hands curling into his neck and shoulder, digging into the meat of them, almost drawing blood as Arthur's hips meet yours, his hot length fully settling inside you. "Arthur, Jesus I—,"

"Shhh," he quiets you softly, one hand cupping the back of your palm on his shoulder, massaging it until your fingers yield, no longer digging into his flesh, and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. A distraction. A gesture so sweet your body warms even more. 

"S-sorry," you manage to say, out of breath and tingling all over. He's so deep inside you you can feel it. All the space he fills, all the ways pressure makes you twitchy and sensitive and ready to burst. He kisses your fingertips next, the inside of your wrist, all the while his other hand smooths over your trembling thigh. 

"Watchu sayin' sorry for?" his question is a mere whisper against you, a soothing rumble at the side of your face. He waits for you to settle, to let you calm like a rapid summer storm, keeps himself still until the way he holds you open becomes from an unfamiliar intrusion into a shivering spark of something. Can pleasure feel like this too? Can the joy of joining coat your bodies like crushed candy that melts in the sun? 

You can't focus on his question, not until he caresses your brow with a finger, and even then you don't know the answer. You just close your eyes and tremble, too lost in the closeness of him, too distracted by the spark of pleasure bubbling hotly inside your belly. 

"Tell me when I should move," he brushes your hair back, wipes the sweat that started beading at your temple. "Or tell me to stop."

"N-no. Don't stop, please Arthur. Jus'... just be slow," you murmur against him, your words slurred into his beard, lips brushing a scar there. 

He nods then, reassures you with a small kiss that says "I've got you, don't worry," and it's enough for you. Enough to brace for the inevitable outwards pull. 

You have to dig your fingers into his arm, have to cling to him for dear life, because even though his movement is careful, you still want to rip apart from the seams, just from his cock gently grinding into your cunt. 

You groan, dear Christ, and you clench on him, the pleasure-pain so intense it rushes you towards the edge with the speed of lightning striking a lonely tree out in the prairie. 

"Yes, sweetheart, open up for me," he praises you, licking the same fingers he stuffed inside you earlier and returning them between your legs, feeling where he holds you open, and then drawing a gentle circle on your clit, another sharp sparkle of pleasure, and you whine. "Can you come like this?"

You can't answer with words, your throat locks up and tears well in the corners of your eyes as you nod eagerly, racing towards an edge that ends in pure free fall. So he keeps his slow torture sweet, a purposeful grind of his hips and knowing touches with his fingers and you pant, into his neck and then into the soft grass, your head lolling to the side, and even though you're outside, up in the mountains, there's barely enough air to fill your lungs. The only thing you breathe is Arthur. He trickles into your every vein, every muscle and fat and bone, blankets you in honey and dew and the warmth of the sun. 

"Look at ya, little darlin'," he says, fond, as he reaches for your face to give your flaming cheek a gentle caress. Your back arches as he pushes in again, his movement turning into longer, truer thrusts. "Look how good you take me."

"Shit, Arthur I—"

"Gonna take care of ya," he murmurs and leans back, settling on his haunches with his cock still rooted deep and your thighs wide open around his hips. 

He looks down at your body, at all the imperfections you hate, at all the unique curves of your form, at all the unevenly smooth skin and marks and scars. Then, at your face that is softened by a deep frown of pleasure. 

Your eyes meet. 

You can see the want flickering in his eyes like blue flames in a marsh, alive and hot, and maybe your own burns the same, because he can't control a hard thrust then. You almost yelp, but your joining is slick now, you can feel wetness collect on your cunt every time he pulls out, so the pain is nonexistent. 

"That—" you pant, sucking in a hasty breath, "that felt so good."

"Christ, darlin," he exhales on a smile, and digs the meat of his fingers into the bend of your knee and the puffy flesh of your cunt and you almost scream, the good kind of scream, as he thrusts in again, hard and deep. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

It's your turn to tense up, to clench on him, hot and full and barely hanging on by a thread. He makes you run down the hill of pleasure until you trip, until you're falling, until the pressure becomes too much and not enough all at once. Like graphite grinded into dust and swept by the wind, that's how you float too, towards his calloused hands and sun-worn cheeks and you're a parchment laid out flat, your body the same, bare and vulnerable until his fingerprints stain you, in forms of lilac bruises on your hips, in never ending paths of grey sunlight. 

He lets go of your leg, puts a palm on the soft of your belly, just above your cunt, and he feels himself there, moving, filling you so full, so good, so whole, until there's no more air to breathe and no more hill to tumble down on, only the vacuum of a night sky littered with stars, the inside of his irises, watching you as you come. Sudden, violent. 

Your body shakes as it sweeps you away, a fire eating you alive like candlelight makes a moth catch aflame, and Arthur leans down to kiss you through it, still fucking you, still not stopping when the too much hits, but oh, he's a great distraction, the way his soft lips apologize, the way his tongue reassures you sweetly that you're doing good. He hums into the kiss, nips on your upper lip as your hands rise and dig into his neck, keeping him close, trapped in your body like a butterfly in sticky honey. 

"Ya okay?" he asks softly, whispering the question onto the corner of your mouth, his hands curling around your shoulders, the back of your head. An embrace. Butterflies growing in the same cocoon. 

"Feels so good," you whimper, clinging to him, feeling his cock hit deep again, resuming a lost rhythm like one replays a song on a guitar. The same chords flowing for a dance practiced by lovers. "Ar-Arthur."

He keeps on going and you keep taking him, the grass crushing under you bodies and you’re sure your whole backside is gonna be green, just like his knees and palms are. It’s blurry from that, your mind so fogged by pleasure that the world swims, a sea of light and wildflowers and clouds, pools of piercing blue-green eyes and crooked teeth that snarl into a smile. 

“Do ya have one more for me?” his forehead knocks against yours, his rhythm slowing. 

You don’t understand the question, not at first, but his fingers return between your legs, rough on the sensitive flesh of your clit, circling oh so carefully, and you know, Jesus, you know you want to give him everything you can. 

"Arthur," you pant, your lips buried in his hair as he plants a humming kiss into the crook of your neck.

"Hm?"

"Don't hold back. Please. Wanna feel you even when you're gone," your tighten your legs around his hips, answer his thrust with the rise of your own, meeting him halfway, like how the sun meets the horizon when pink dusk falls over the valley. 

"Don't ask me that I—" he chokes on his words at your interruption, a soft kiss, placed right on the plump of his bottom lip. 

"Please,” you encourage him, plead him. You want this so much it almost hurts. Not where he splits you open. Not where he hits deep as he picks up his pace. No, it’s the chest where you ache, the rapidly beating organ that pumps and beats and jumps and flickers, a mass of red, a cluster of muscle that somehow houses all the feelings you have for this man. A heart full of adoration. A heart full of love.

He kisses you so hard it makes you dizzy. Makes the doves caged in your ribs escape and tear you open, leaving only a wide wound in their wake, a door that leads straight down to the pocket-universe you handcrafted in the shape of a golden-haired, glacier-eyed man. 

You can feel him getting close, his hard thrusts falling out of rhythm, his fingers urgent on your abused clit. It sits there, the pleasure in your belly, bubbling, spilling over as he desperately chases your own orgasm, fucking you into the ground almost, planting you like a flower, to bloom just for him, just so you can weave your roots together. 

Arthur’s arms tremble as he groans into your neck, pulls back to leave a kiss on the side of your mouth, not focused enough for a proper one and you can’t help yourself. That choking feeling you felt rising from the start overspills, makes a landslide, an avalanche. You swallow and look up at him, mesmerized by his half-lidded eyes, glinting in the sun like twin-lakes, his hands holding you tight to him, his cheeks ruddy from all the loving you did to each other. 

You slip, and the world tilts. 

"Love you," you murmur, breathless, and there's a sudden shudder against you, Arthur's hands going bruising on your flesh, and he's coming, halfway on his way of pulling out. The warmth startles you, and then his grunt too, when he pushes back inside, because it doesn't really matter anymore, with his seed spilling out beside his cock, and some sick, possessive part of him enjoys how you whimper when he stuffs you full again, everything too wet and too hot. You tremble in his hold, terrified and riled up all at once, because feeling him like this makes you a little stupid and so sick with love it aches. 

You come again from it, softly this time. 

"I'm so goddamn sorry," he groans, trying to play the gentleman, trying to erase memories surfacing. This is not like it was then. He can still do right by you.

"'S okay," you murmur, almost feeling drunk, out of your mind with the way his cock twitches inside you, spurting one last time. "'S okay, Arthur." 

You pull him closer, with your fingers in his hair, in his beard. He sags against you, body weak from both his climax and emotions, and he presses his forehead to yours. It's a thing almost more intimate than a kiss. A thing full of the unspeakable truth, but you're not ready for it, and he isn't either. 

He watches you for a few seconds, his eyes flickering, a candle flame in a storm, but finally, finally he gives you a small smile. It's just in his eyes, a secret thing, a treasure so little and so precious it needs to be protected from the ugly cold reality. 

"I don't wanna awaken false hopes inside ya," he starts, gently, like calming a wild horse, "but I can't leave ya here thinkin' I don't love you the same." 

That's it. That's the time for a tear that sneakily bubbles from the corner of your eye and slides down to the calloused pad of his finger still caressing your face. 

"I ain't a good man," he continues, voice impossibly soft, "but I always wanted to do right by ya."

"Arthur," you tremble as you whisper, your hands on his nape, in his hair. Your mouth brushes his brow as you lean in. "Just come back to me. I don't care when. Jus' come back alive."

He nods, then buries his head into your neck, kissing your heated skin, writing a promise there with his lips. 

The sun moves and the surrounding mountains start to paint blue shadows over the blooming meadows so you move, first from the embrace, then from the flattened patch of grass and flowers you’ve tangled into each other on. You only put on your dress, no bloomers or shoes, his come still sticky on the inside of your thigh, and he leaves his shirt on the ground too, not ready to let go of this moment. 

He looks up at you, eyes sparkling, taking in the sight that is so pretty he wants to never leave. With flowers in your hair, a crown braided from daisies and forget-me-nots and marigolds, with dirt and grass on your skin, with a content smile in the corner of your mouth—you look radiant. 

Arthur sits with you in the grass, picking on wild-green blades and chewing on the end of one while he searches for the prettiest little flower blooming right next to your bare feet, nestled close to his. 

A perfect bud of white clover. Faith, love, good fortune.

He takes your hand in his, kisses your knuckles, and ties a ring around your finger from the stem, makes the flower sit pretty in the middle, like a chiseled, shiny rock of moonstone. 

What is this if not a vow? 

What is this if not a promise?

*

In the morning, after loving each other once more in the flickering moonlight, you wake up sore between the legs and dizzy from an intelligible emotion clawing deep inside your chest. The bed is empty next to you, the coffee that Arthur made still steaming on the table. You don't dress up, just pull the quilt over your body and run outside, onto your small porch to gaze down the valley bathing in golden light. A silver dapple mare gallops down there, on the spine of a mud-snake road. 

Arthur rides away. 

You stumble back to the chair on the porch, full with something bittersweet. Overripe cherries rotting on a tree. A black heart dripping honey. Your ribcage squeezing your lungs like a fist. You take a shaky breath and when he completely disappears from your view you lean back, almost sit down on a leather-covered book. It's a journal. Another one, smelling like fresh paper and horse hair and him.

You open it as you settle, the quilt drawn tight around your barely covered body.

There's a drawing on the first page, two wild doves huddled together, and a flower of white clover tied into a ring, pressed down into the page. 

Under it, scrawled hastily with Arthur's flowing handwriting:

I promise.

[wrr000]

Van Der Linde gang when you randomly kiss them - short headcanons

Featuring: Arthur, Javier, Charles (can do a part two and add whoever y'all want, just let me know)

Summary: pure fluff, kissing on the cheek (just to clarify)

Warnings: none, just really short and stupid

»»————-　♡　————-««

--Arthur

He's usually on high alert, but in camp he wants to chill and rest so it's easier to surprise him

When you sneak up on Arthur to kiss him on the cheek you nearly gave him a heart attack

Slightly blush appeared on his face

Poor baby is flustered and doesn't know what to do. Should he kiss you back or what?

"Uh- It's you- You sure suprised me baby"

Nervously rubbing back of his neck and avoiding eye contact before awkwardly kissing you back

It may not seem like it, but little cowboy was exploding from happiness on the inside

Arthur is just a pure mess, but a big sweetheart!

He sure loves you and appreciate everything you do (for him or to him)

If you want to do this again--better warn him or else he will die from fluster D:

--Javier

He did not expect that, I said what I said

Javier may be always vigilant, but this one time you actually managed to surprise him

He shivered slightly, but after a moment he realized it was you

"Oh~ What did I do to earn this, Mi amore? You already missed me?"

Immediately pulling you closer to him, wrapping his hands around your waist and kissing you back

But like, a thousad kisses all around your face

Now he doesn't want to let you go tightening his grip

What did you even expect from someone as romantic and passionate as him

Javier loves everything you do, but especially when you initiate sweet moments yourself

(and when you are trying get his attention, he knows that you're loyal)

Just keeping doing that more often! It makes him very happy and loved

--Charles

He knows that you're coming from behind so there was no way you could suprise him

Charles spent too much time on hunting and honestly? He found it very cute when you thought you were sneaky

For your peace of mind, he pretended to be surprised

"Oh, it's you my dear, what a nice suprise"

Bright smile crawled on his face

After a brief moment he placed a hand on your waist and returned a kiss

It felt good to know that you're thinking about him and came up with this idea

Such small gestures meant a lot to him

In return he would give you something small, but from the heart

Not like he needs to proof you that he loves you, it's nothing like that

Charles is a gentleman and he wants to surprise you as well. He may not have the way with words or action, but quality time or precious gifts? Yup yup!

Also--he's curious if you will able to sneak up on him next time

Won't admit it, but he wants you to do it more often!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Gossip

Masterlist Word count: 550 Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: You know that John likes you. You know that Arthur likes you. They know about each other, but the others don't. Gossip spreads and, what feels like a ticking time bomb, turns out to be unconnected. 

---------

'I don't think he knows,' Abigail says as she sits, knitting with Mary-Beth and Tilly while watching you and Arthur talk. John has gone out hunting with Charles to learn how to use a bow as he is useless with it. Arthur had asked Charles to do so but Abigail suspects he had other motives for getting John away from camp.  'I think he does,' Tilly argues with a grin, 'why else would he ask Charles? Everyone knows John is too impatient to learn how to use a bow.' She's got a point, Abigail figures.  Things had been weird ever since you joined the gang. Sadie had found you in Valentine and recognized you as an old friend. In fact, the friend who set her up with her husband. She told the others you seemed lost and needed some place where people have your back. Most were sceptical but your turned out to be a hard worker and a great hunter, bringing in huge game for the camp whenever you went out. Dutch had almost considered letting you take a wagon along so you could bring enough to sell it.  That great aim of yours also pulled in different attention. Both John and Arthur became more than smitten with your friendly and kind demeanour. Mary-Beth had suggested that Arthur liked you for your kindness and willingness to listen while John liked you for your viciousness and rough edges. Both great attributes that make you who you are.  'Well, either way, they're both fools,' Mary-Beth claims, ending the argument.  'Do you think she knows,' Tilly questions.  'For sure she knows,' Mary-Beth answers as all of them watch you gently touch Arthur's shoulder as he makes a joke not worthy of the laughter that comes out of you.  'She's really toying with them, ain't she,' Abigail grumbles. Despite liking you quite a bit, she fears what it might do to the gang if Arthur and John are pinned against each other. It's a bad predicament to be in and since the year that John left the gang is still a sore spot for Arthur, Abigail fears things might explode with the littlest of meddling. When her and John put an end to it, she was slightly relieved, but this is just insanity. 

'Do you think they know,' Arthur questions you. You shake your head with a grin.  'No, they probably think I'm hopping between you two. They wouldn't be gossiping about us as much if they knew.'  'Fair point.' He puts a gentle hand on your waist to pull you closer and watches at the jaws drop across camp.  'Are you trying to rile them up, cowboy,' you tease as you take a step closer to him. He shrugs. You roll your eyes and press a kiss to his jaw. 'Come on, let's go join Charles and John.' Arthur looks over at the women once more as he leans towards you.  'If only they knew about Charles.' You shove him away with a laugh.  'Oh, stop it. I liked you better when you were still being shy about liking me.' 

[the-jarvy-party]

THE COWBOY YOU ARE | J. Escuella

javier escuella x f!reader

tags ; smut, cursing, riding a cowboy (iykwim), cowboy hat rule (look it up), afab anatomy , dry humping, p in v, switch!javier, switch!reader, teasing, cockwarming but only for a few seconds

wc ; 749

a/n ; save a horse, ride a cowboy ;) | my first smut on this app, so why not make it my boy javier

if wear the cowboy hat, you gotta ride the cowboy.

“You’re treading on thin ice, princesa” Javier sets his hat down on the table and huffs as he sits down. [ princesa - princess ]

“Is it so bad,” You sit down on his lap, “that i just wanna wear your hat?” Your hand goes to grab it and he swats it away.

“You know what happens when you wear my hat.” He warns you. Of course you knew what happened when you wore his hat, that’s why you wanted to wear it.

“Yes, Javi, I know what happens.” You grind down onto his lap and he swallows down a groan.

“Mierda, oh go-“ Javier bites down on his hand as you continue to grind down on him. The entire camp was either asleep or just in their tents doing stuff. So, you two were pretty safe out here for a bit. [ mierda - shit ]

“Shh, Javi.” You slowly reach for his hat with your right hand. Putting it on your head once you had a secure grip on his hat. “Oops…”

“You did this on pur-“ You grind down on his dick again, stopping him mid sentence. “God.” He whines and bucks his hips up against yours. That was your breaking point.

✭ ✭ ✭

“Javier-“ You manage to moan out his name as he kisses up and down the upper half of your body, leaving your jeans buttoned almost on purpose. You grip onto his hair, ruining the low ponytail he had it in.

“You don’t know what you do to me, especially when you do this.” He stands up, fixing the brim of his hat that was on your head. “I wanna see you ride me like the cowboy you are, since you’re obviously one now.”

You rubbed your thighs together for some friction, anything, to soothe the ache between your thighs.

Javier seemed so dominant until you slowly sat down on his dick, every time you’d grind down he was a whimpering, whining mess. Gripping at your hips, helping you ride him.

“Por favor, te necesito... Necesito esto.” Javiers nails dug into your hips, making you moan a little too loud. [ please i need you… i need this ]

When you both bucked your hips at the same time, it made your vision go white. It practically made you scream out in pleasure.

“Javi,” You throw your head back as you claw at his chest. “God… you’re so-“ You struggled to talk in between moans and whines that would escape every so often.

Javiers hands slowly slid up your body, cupping one of your boobs. His calloused thumb sliding over one of your nipples, making you shiver. “You don’t know how much… I- dios… worship you.” [ dios - god ]

It was true. As his hands went up to your face he flicked the brim of his hat up, exposing more of your face. It was red and had a thin layer of sweat covering it.

“I’m close-“ You struggle to moan out the words, gripping and clawing at Javier’s chest.

“So am I, hermosa. Just… mierda… a little bit longer.” He let’s out an animalistic groan as he looks down and sees where you two were connected. [ hermosa - beautiful | mierda - fuck ]

You eventually dive down and start kissing him once his moans and whines got too loud. He got more aggressive with his thrusts, though they were sloppy it still bucked your body upward.

Javier takes both of his arms and gropes your ass needily, like he was a starving man and you were his first meal.

He dips his left hand down to play with your clit, leaving you a moaning mess. Javier seeing you come undone this fast and this easily made him rut into you.

“Ple- please… I-“ Javier manages to groan out, “Inside…” He started panting, “you… p-please.”

“You can…” You grip onto his shoulder, feeling him thrust one last time into your throbbing cunt until he eventually came.

Javier puts his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His face was slightly flushed, and his lips were swollen. He was trying to catch his breath but he had the most intoxicating smile on his face.

“So… how was the ride?” He looks up at you with hooded eyes, obviously trying to joke around.

You roll your eyes, kissing his forehead and pushing the stray hairs off of his forehead before getting up off of him to lay beside him.

[6emo6zombie6]

RDR fem!relationship/sexual headcanons pt.2

Got some shower thoughts and had to write them down, this time for Charles, Javier, and Sadie. My last headcanons were received very well so I hope this one is as good! :)

Charles:

The sweetest and most gentle boyfriend ever. He’ll smile at you and blush whenever you walk into the room.

Enjoys taking you on long, calm horse rides. Usually, you end up cuddling on some beach or somewhere in a big field.

Loves when you play with his hair or swoop it over his shoulder so you can press kisses against his neck.

Always petting your head for some reason, whether you’re sitting in between his legs by the campfire or if you’re huddled in his cot together, he always seems to be petting your head.

Hand holding!!!!! This man will always hold your hand, he enjoys it especially if your hand is smaller than his (which, let’s be honest, it probably is).

Never stops smiling after you kiss him. It doesn’t matter if it’s a soft peck on his jaw or a long, passionate kiss, he just can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

~~~

Very slow and gentle, he doesn’t see why sex should be rushed.

He tries to hide it, but he’s actually super needy. He can’t help but get hard quickly, even if you’re just making out.

Super into sleepy sex. He loves seeing you sleepy and needy for him, completely under his mercy as he fucks you gently. He doesn’t mind in the slightest if you wake him up and ask him if he can help you out.

“You’re too horny to sleep? Aw, baby, let me take care of that for you.”

Not specifically into public stuff, but the two of you undoubtedly have fucked around in the woods a couple of times.

Always too shy to make any noise at first, but you’ll have him groaning and whining as soon as he warms up to you.

Obsessed with your thighs. He’ll fuck them or have his head between them if he can.

Ashamed to admit that he likes some light bondage every now and then.  

Sadie:

It initially took her a while to warm up to you, even If she fell in love from the first time she laid eyes on you.

Always laughing at your jokes, there isn’t a second that she thinks you’re unfunny or boring.

She loves that little sparkle in your eyes when she gives you a gift, so she’ll make sure to get you a shiny new ring or necklace every so often.

Always showing you off. She’ll make a smooth comment on how amazing you look every so often, causing all of the people at camp to look at you.

Always takes you along to bars, her arm either around your shoulders or your waist to make sure you don’t get hurt.

Offended by people who assume the two of you are just friends, you’re her girlfriend and everyone needs to know.

Definitely beats people up if they try to either flirt with or annoy you.

Loves it when you get clingy, she has all the attention in the world for you.

~~~

Not ashamed in the slightest to make out with you in public.

Hickeys and scratches are her other ways to show everyone whose girlfriend you are.

Always grabbing your boobs when nobody’s looking.

She’ll whisper dirty things into your ear while you’re doing your daily chores just to watch you get embarrassed.

Lets you ride her thigh whenever.

Does the knee thing, no doubt.

Very spontaneous when she wants sex, usually she’s pushing you into your tent with little to no words. You never have reason to complain though.

Not always rushed with sex, but she has her moments. Usually, she isn’t aware of how fast she’s going, just focused on making you cum.

 Javier:

Definitely the type of guy to kiss your hands.

Loves it when you wear his clothes, he’ll somehow always find a way to offer you his jacket.

Always calls you “Mi amor,” “Mi Corazón,” “Cariño,”… Etc.

Writes songs for you on his guitar.

Helps you practice playing guitar if he’s got time.

Loves sitting in between your thighs or laying his head between them.

Weirdly likes It when you touch his arms and trace his muscles.

Likes carrying you—it doesn’t matter what reason, and he’ll just make one up if there is none. He’ll carry you to your tent when you’re drunk or when you’re tired, if not, he’ll carry you to your horse like a princess.

Always worried if you’re too cold.

~~~

I’m telling you right now, this man for sure has an oral fixation. He’s always pushing his fingers into your mouth and making you suck them.

Blowjobs!! He’ll take them in any way, as long as his cock is in your mouth.

Enjoys pulling your hair.

Bends you over anything he can.

Absolutely goes wild when you sit on his lap and grind your hips against his bulge.

Always manhandling you while you’re making out.

Starts out slow and sensual during sex, then ends up getting rough and making you cum multiple times.

Prefers if you’re more bratty or confident during sex so he can try his best to bring you down.

Very vocal during sex, whether it is grunting and moaning or talking to you in Spanish.

[davidlcki]

payment

pairing:low honor! arthur x reader

warnings: cursing, arthur is mean, being forced to drink, age gap, game typical violence. i think that’s it

summary: your parents take a loan from strauss, and when they can’t afford it, they send you off as payment instead. it’s a 3 day journey back to the van der linde camp. will you turn the notorious gunslinger soft?

an: please let me know how you guys feel about this one! i’ve been dealing with severe writers block so this took me MONTHS to write. it might not be my best, but i’m just happy to get something out. enjoy, i love you all! ❤️

words: 5,562 (my longest yet i think)

part 2

shouting from downstairs violently ripped you from your deep sleep, and quickly, you hopped out of bed. your hands shook as you slowly opened your door and made your way to the top of the steps.

“the money. NOW.”

you flinched at the harshness of the man’s words. instantly you knew it was the debt collectors, and that your family had nowhere near the amount needed to pay it off. you listened to your mother and father plead with the man for another week, but he wasn’t having it. at the sound of a gun cocking, your legs began to move on their own. you were bolting down the stairs.

“STOP! please, please don’t hurt them!” you hold your hands out desperately, standing between the man and your parents, who were dead silent. the man paused, the anger in his features seemed to be replaced with amusement. this was the moment that you recognized who this man was. you had seen him in many bounty posters around strawberry, he was arthur morgan.

“well now, why didn’t ya tell me about this fine young lady?” arthur’s gaze drifted from you to your parents, who were looking at each other with a look you couldn’t read. nervously, you looked between your parents and arthur. why weren’t they saying anything?

“she’ll do as payment just fine” arthur shrugs, holstering his gun and giving an easy smile, as if this was no big deal, just another day. you turned to your parents quickly, shaking your head and backing away from arthur.

“please don’t…” you looked between your mother and father desperately. finally, your father speaks.

“take her. if it works as payment, take her.” time seemed to slow as you stared at your father who wouldn’t look you in the eyes. your mother was looking down, you could tell she was holding back tears, but she stayed silent.

“what? wait, wait just-” you glanced at the door quickly, thinking of ways to escape. arthur, was quick to place his hand on his holstered gun.

“i wouldn’t, if i were you.” arthur’s voice was suddenly much lower, and his easy smile was gone in an instant. you knew there was no other way. you turned to your parents, lips in a flat line as you stared at them. you were thinking of what you could possibly say to them, when arthur’s rough hand had a grip on your upper arm.

“your own daughter…for some fucking cash…” your voice was shaky as you were being pulled towards the door. barely having time to slip your boots on, you give your parents one last look before you were out of sight.

for a while, it was silent. you were too in shock to cry or do much of anything, but think.

“we’ll camp here for the night” arthur’s voice startled you out of your thoughts, most of them being how to escape this situation. for now, he had at least some form of trust in you, considering your hands were untied.

arthur morgan was more of a myth than a person, to you. you heard the stories of the hundreds he’s killed and you knew this was probably a bad idea, but you needed to try an escape. once he hopped off his horse, you grabbed onto the reigns and kicked your heels into its sides, but it didn’t budge. the damned horse stayed dead still. the air seemed to thicken as you continued to attempt to get the horse to take off with a series of ‘hyah’s’ and ‘go’s’, but his horse was loyal, seeming to listen to him and only him. when you looked over, you swore you saw flames in arthur’s eyes.

plan b.

from the horse, you deliver a kick into arthur’s chest with all the power you could muster. just as his horse, he dosent budge. arthur lunges forwards, pulling you off the horse roughly and ignoring the protests coming from you as he threw you over his shoulder. you pounded relentlessly on his back, but he didn’t so much as flinch. instead, he tightened his grip on you, nearly squandering your ability to breathe. once finding a clearing about 30 feet into the woods, he throws you onto the grass and pulls out his lasso. you take a few seconds to catch your breath, but you don’t have time to move or get any words out. effortlessly, arthur ties the rope around your wrists and ankles before you could flip over, rendering you immobile.

“bastard! you let me go!” you finally manage to turn yourself onto your back and struggle against the rope that dug into your skin. arthur, clearly unamused at your shouting, sinks down to your level on the ground. his hips were nearly straddling yours as he kneeled and grabbed your face with a rough hand.

“watch it girl.” his voice was drawn out and easy, giving you the impression that he’s done this many times before. he releases his grip on your jaw, and brushes a strand of hair from your forehead. “don’t forget i know where you live. dont try nothin’, less you’re fixin’ to watch your parents die”.

“i don’t…. i don’t care about them anymore. they sold me. pawned me like trash.” your voice was shaky as you spoke up at him, and for a while the both of you sat and stared at each other, heavy breath fanning over your faces. arthur almost had a look of understanding for a moment. it was true. you were angry at them for so carelessly giving you away for their own benefit. in fact, you didn’t know who you were angrier at. arthur, or your own parents. finally, arthur hums and stands. you didn’t dare move from your spot on the ground, instead, you silently watched arthur set up camp. you really were afraid that he’d kill you if you so much as moved. you could see in his eyes that he was only going to let that trick you tried slide once.

you shivered and let out a ragged exhale, still catching your breath as the wind was knocked out of you not long ago. you were desperate for fire, for any kind of warmth. you were only in boots and a thin nightgown, that did much of nothing as the cold from the ground seeped into you.

“cold?” arthur stands next to your shivering frame on the ground. you say nothing, instead giving him an unamused glare. you refused to let him see you cry, so you threw on your best angry facade. you stiffened as he leaned down and lifted you, not letting out a breath of air until you were put down again. now, you were resting against a tree in front of the fire. you let out an inner sigh of relief at the warmth. arthur sits across from the fire, taking a bite of jerky from his satchel.

“so, that’s your parents farm huh? pretty nice, all considering.” arthur pauses, but you say nothing. “live there your whole life?” you didn’t even really hear his question as you asked your own.

“where are you takin’ me?” you watch arthur’s face carefully as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“you’re joining the gang” arthur flicks the end of his cigarette, the ashes slowly float to the ground. “we need more hands. more people to help fight.”

“i’m no good at fighting” your voice was quiet, you were starting to realize you weren’t getting out of this.

“you will be. now,” arthur stands up and pulls more rope from his horses satchel “rest up, got a long day of riding tomorrow” you scoff as he begins to wrap the rope around you and the tree you were against.

“is this necessary?” arthur says nothing, instead pulling the rope tighter. after, he goes back to his spot, pulling his hat over his face and letting out a rather large sigh. for a long time, you didn’t sleep. instead, you relentlessly tugged and pulled at the rope restraining you. you knew it was pointless, but you couldn’t help trying. your face twisted in pain as your arms scratched against the rough tree bark. arthur must have been very confident in the knots he tied, because you very quickly heard soft snores drifting from across the fire. after what seemed like hours, and a few shed tears, you fell into a restless sleep.

•••

when you awoke the next morning, arthur was up, packing supplies into his horses satchel and humming to himself softly. you stayed silent, observing the man who was so mean to you do a task so mundane. when you looked down, you noticed arthur’s brown coat was thrown over your frame. it smelled like tobacco and gunpowder. when arthur noticed you were up, he quickly took his jacket back and went over to untie the rope holding you to the tree.

“morning sunshine” he throws you a smile as he pulls the rope from around the tree off, along with the rope on your ankles.

“i trust you won’t run”

“no” your voice was hoarse and you shivered violently as the wind attacked your bare skin that was previously covered. arthur stopped, thinking for a second as he took in your frame with a slow look from your head to your ankles and back up again. he pulls you to your feet, letting you catch your footing on wobbly legs as he rummaged around for his canteen. he flicks the cap off and grabs your jaw so roughly and suddenly that you let out an involuntary gasp of shock. he turns your face towards him and inspects you for a second before continuing. you could only wonder what he was thinking, his lip twitching ever so slightly into the ghost of a smile as he continued.

“drink” he puts the canteen to your mouth and watches as you desperately gulped down the water. after about 5 seconds, he pulled it away, taking a swig of the liquid himself before stowing it back on his horse.

“long ride ahead,” arthur lifts you onto his horse before hopping in front of you in the saddle, “gonna take a few days i reckon, so get comfortable”.

arthur wasn’t lying. you rode all day, so long that you couldn’t remember what direction you came from or how to get back home. although that outcome was unlikely now. desperate to escape the cold, you pressed yourself against arthur’s back. you felt him stiffen at the contact, but were too cold to care. you couldn’t count the hours it’d been, and for a while you were pretty sure you fell asleep. throughout the day, you only made a few stops. one for bathroom breaks, and one for his horse to rest. the rest of the day was a blur, not much was said, and the only noise you heard was the trotting of hoofs on the ground and the rustle of trees in the wind. when the sun began to set, arthur finally pulled to a stop.

“seems like a good spot” arthur observes the clearing, giving you a stern look before hopping off of his horse, remembering the stunt you pulled last time.

“gonna tie me to a tree again?” your voice was dripping in sarcasm as you allowed him to pull you off the horse.

“you gonna make me?” arthur’s tone matched yours as he pulled out his bedroll and some other supplies. you waited for the extra rope to come, but it never did. arthur instead unties your hands, then reties them in front of you. you audibly sigh at the discomfort that began to dissipate, and you rolled your shoulders a few times in satisfaction.

“y’ dont wanna run off in these parts,” arthur warns as the fire lights up the clearing. “the people will get to ya before the animals do.” you said nothing in response. for a few hours, you stayed dead silent. ignoring arthur’s snarky comments and nothing more than blinking when he’d toss the end of a cigarette or a twig off the ground at you. arthur began to heat a small can of stew, smiling teasingly as he watches you eye it. he pulls gin out of his pocket, downing a hefty swig.

“if you want some, you gotta speak, girl.” arthur eats a large scoop of stew, groaning dramatically in satisfaction in an attempt to tease you.

“fuck you. that enough?” arthur snorts a laugh at your response, deciding to give you a bite. you quickly chew and swallow it, savoring the taste.

“what’s your name anyway?” arthur pauses, scooping out some more stew and holding it up. “you answer me if you wanna eat.”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N” arthur feeds you the stew and downs more gin. halfway through the bottle now.

“Y/N” the way your name rolled off his tongue sent a chill down your spine. “you gotta pretty name, Y/N. how old are ya?”

you eye the man for a while, before looking back down to the tempting spoon of stew. “i’m 22. now can you feed me the god damn food?” you were getting testy now, watching arthur eat and down almost an entire bottle of gin while you’ve had nothing for over a day will do that to you.

“you got a mouth on ya!” arthur let’s out a laugh, feeding you another bite and finishing the rest of the stew himself. he stands up, stretching his legs and yawning, before walking over to you casually. nervously, you watch as arthur squats down to be eye level with you.

“sleep” a small smile crosses his face, confusing you. then, he places a hand on your shoulder and shoves you to the side so you’re in a laying position in the grass. a yelp escapes your lips as you hit the ground. “night”

you watch in disbelief as arthur goes to his spot on the bed roll, very quickly falling asleep with his hat on his face as usual. now was your turn. you thought about running, but had a feeling that arthur wasn’t lying about the people around these parts. slowly, you drifted to sleep in the damp grass.

•••

you woke up to the sound of footsteps crunching in the dead leaves. instantly you were alert. when you looked over, arthur was still passed out. you guessed the gin running through his veins was doing its work. you stayed silent, sitting up slowly and looking into the dark of the forrest around you. the fire was almost out at this point. you tugged anxiously at the ropes binding your hands. there were the footsteps again, from behind you this time. you knew those weren’t from an animal. before you could react, a man came running out of the woods. he was on you in seconds, knife in hand. you let out a scream of terror as you were slammed onto your back. you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the knife to be plunged into your chest, but it never came. instead, there was a gunshot that seemed to shake the forest. when you opened your eyes, there was a bullet hole between the eyes of the man as he crumpled on top of you. the weight of him smothered the cry that you tried to let out. arthur was over in seconds, shoving the body off of you and pulling you to a sitting position. there was genuine worry that you saw for a mere second in his face.

“y’ alright?” he was still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looked you over for stab wounds. he was half awake, trying to make sense of what was going on. as you opened your mouth to speak, another man emerged from the dark of the woods. he shoved arthur over, effectively knocking the gun from his hands. you were in a trance, looking between arthur, the man, and the pistol laying right in front of you. arthur’s voice startled you out of it. his voice was strained as he called your name out, he was using all his strength to hold the knife mere inches away from his chest. with your tied hands, you picked up the pistol. it was heavier than you expected.

“do… it…” his eyes pleaded with you, meanwhile, the tip of the knife was beginning to sink into his chest. without anymore hesitation, you aimed at the attackers head and pulled the trigger. your ears rung more than the first gunshot that was fired earlier, and you noticed the almost painful vibrations that flowed through your hands. arthur let’s out a sigh of relief, pushing the body off of him and sitting up, before quickly freezing again. he stared at you blankly as you continued to point the pistol at him.

“Y/N…” he holds his hands up and shakes his head. “y’ don’t wanna do this”

you looked at him for a long while, tears were dripping down your cheeks and your hands were shaking violently. you were debating killing him right here and now. but how would you make it in there woods? how would you find your way back? then, you remembered why you were here in the first place, and how your parents threw you out without a thought. finally, slowly, you lowered the gun, arthur took this oppertunity to snatch it from your hands, before audibly exhaling. he watched carefully as you broke down in tears, hugging onto yourself the best you could with tied hands and trying to wipe blood off of your nightgown.

“hey… i uh…” arthur didnt know what to say as he placed a hand upon your shoulder in attempted reassurance. to his surprise, you threw yourself into his embrace. slowly, he wrapped his arms around your frame and listened to you cry. he noticed the red marks on your wrists under the rope, and was shocked at the pang of guilt he felt. without thinking, he takes out his hunting knife and cuts the rope off of you. you use this time to wrap your arms around his waist. arthur slowly runs a hand up and down your back as you continued to sob.

“i’m scared, arthur.” was all you could get out. you had never killed a man before, and the reality was setting in. all arthur could do was mutter an awkward series of ‘it’s alright’ and ‘i’m here’s’ until you calmed down enough to let go. arthur was almost sad at the loss of your presence, and he wished he could rip this part of him out. this part that yearned for love and affection and what he was just finding out, you. half of him screamed as he draped his coat around your shoulders, while the other half cheered.

you avoided eye contact with the gunslinger as you attempted to get your tears under control, pulling his coat around yourself gingerly.

“thank you… for not letting me be killed” you kept your eyes on the fire, too afraid to look at arthur or the bodies or the blood on your skin.

“and thank you, for not shootin’ me along with this feller” you let out a scoff, lips twitching up into a small smile you mustered up. arthur took the time to move the bodies away from camp and your sight, eventually returning and sitting down again. there was a new feeling in the air between you and the gunslinger. a bond forged in blood and death. arthur never tied your hands again, and he kept watch the rest of the night. though neither of you got another wink of sleep, you stayed close to each other, shoulders touching as you sat side by side. you asked arthur plenty of questions about his gang. you were genuinely curious what it was like. you could tell he was fond of them by the way his features softened at just the thought. you realized, they were family, and it didn’t sound so bad. after hours of trying to will the sun to come up faster, it finally rose, and you were more than glad to keep moving.

you couldn’t tell how long it’d been now. you slept for a while the way you have been, your face pressed against arthur’s back in a somewhat comfortable position, but when you opened your eyes again you were in a town. upon reading the sign, you realized it was valentine. you could hear the chatter in the distance, and your eyes lit up with surprise. it had been days since you’d seen another person besides arthur. arthur must have felt you sit up straighter, because he quickly stopped his horse and looked back at you.

“i trust you’re not gonna try no shit?” he asks, exhaling cigarette smoke from his lungs. you hold back the urge to cough as the smoke wafts over your face. he observes you for a second more before straightening your messy hair. you knew it was so you looked more presentable to the town, but it was oddly gentle, intimate.

“no, but people are going to ask questions, arthur.” you spit his name out, and reference down to your now dirty and tattered nightgown. you were upset at the shift between you both after what you went through the night before, and it was hard for you to contain your anger as you spoke. the lack of food and clean clothes was starting to get to you. arthur stares at you for a while, before sighing heavily. though he still gave you attitude, you were surprised with the patience he was beginning to keep with you.

“okay… here” after a second of thinking, he pulled his coat off and placed it around your shoulders once again. casually, the two of you trotted into town, slowing to a stop at the hotel. you ignored the stares the townsfolk gave you as you walked inside. being in a tattered gown and a jacket two big was definitely turning heads.

“one bath for the lady please” arthur tosses the owner a coin and nudges you towards the bath house. once in front of the door, he grabs your wrist and turns you towards him.

“you clean up, i’ll be right back. dont get no ideas of runnin’ off now, because i will find you.” his voice was low as he looked down at you, though you were starting to notice the facade he was putting up. the way he gently held your wrist told you all you needed to know, and unbeknownst to him, you weren’t really planning on leaving. the last place you wanted to go, was back home.

“wouldnt dream of it” your voice was dripping with sarcasm as you pulled your wrist from his grip and pushed your way into the bath house.

once you finished cleaning up, you pulled the towel around yourself and waited awkwardly, leaning from foot to foot as you waited for arthur to come back. the last thing you wanted was to put your old clothes on, so you stood by the fire and slowly dried off. finally, arthur pushed his way into the bath house holding a bag. he froze for a second as he took in your frame, only covered by the small towel. once you started walking towards him, he looked anywhere but at you as he handed you the bag. you say nothing, pulling the clothes out and dropping your towel as you began to pull them on. it was a simple brown dress with yellow detailing on the sleeves, collar, and bottom. you could tell arthur had picked it out, considering how it matched to his own clothes. there was also a new night gown in the bag, and you smiled to yourself.

“could you?” you turn away from the man who was doing most anything but look at you. when he shifted his gaze to you again, your back was turned to him, revealing an unlaced corset.

“yeah… yeah sure” arthur’s hands gingerly fiddled with the string, trying his best to will away the reddening of his cheeks as he observed your exposed back. it had been forever since he had been with another woman, and he cursed the feelings arising in him for you. you turned towards him afterwards, unable to help the smile of relief from being in clean clothes.

“you… you look nice” arthur looks down at your dress, then quickly he turns and pulls you out of the bathhouse with him before you can utter a ‘thank you’.

“you hungry?” arthur wasn’t really asking as the two of you headed towards the saloon, though you almost cried tears of joy at the thought of food. with a glance to the clock on the wall, you realized it was already 6PM. the scent of food that floated through the saloon nearly made you drool. eagerly, you sat at the bar and waited for your steak and potatoes that arthur ordered to arrive.

“2 whiskeys please” arthur tosses a few coins at the bartender who nods in compliance.

“oh i… i don’t drink” arthur looks at you straight faced, sliding the shot glass to you.

“drink” his eyes stayed trained on you all the way until the shots were taken, the burning liquid slides down your throat roughly. arthur let out a hardy laugh as you coughed, instantly digging into your food as it arrived to get rid of the taste.

“another” arthur tosses more coins, not batting an eye when you protest.

“i’m not drinking anymore, arthur!” you glare in his direction angrily. arthur pauses for a while, before leaning in close and bringing the shot to your lips.

“drink the damn whiskey girl.” his voice was low and gravelly as he parted your lips with his thumb, before tilting the shot glass forward. nervously, you swallowed it. this moment reminded you that you were still technically being kidnapped by him, and that he wasn’t messing around. arthur smiles a little, taking his own shot.

“good girl.” you silently turn back to your food, eating slowly and trying to keep track of the amount of shots he was taking. eventually it became too many to count. luckily, he didn’t make you take anymore, too preoccupied with himself.

“arthur that’s enough, let’s go” it had been an hour now, and arthur was shitfaced. the wooziness you had began to feel went away quickly as you scarfed down your food. “you’re drunk”

“am not” arthur smiled lazily, attempting to order another drink, but you snatch the coins from his hand and tell the bartender we’re done. arthur gets up angrily, towering over your frame that was still sat on the stool. he opens his mouth to speak, but instead bumps shoulders with another man who was walking past.

“you bastard! watch it” arthur shoves the man back, sending him tumbling into another man behind him. shit.

in a flash, it was an all out fight between, well, you couldn’t count how many men. you stumbled back, trying to look for arthur in the crowd of men. finally, you spotted him falling to the ground and out of sight again. you debated for a while. do you wanna keep saving this fool? you bounced from foot to foot anxiously, cursing under your breath before bracing yourself and shoving your way through the fighting men. you dodged punches left and right, some of them had to have hit you, but your adrenaline blocked out the pain. finally, you spotted arthur on the ground unconscious.

“son of a bitch!” your voice was drowned out by the shouting, but you finally managed to hook your arms under arthur’s and drag him from the fighting, all the way outside, to the hotel across the street.

“one room please” you spoke to the clerk between heavy breaths, fishing into arthur’s pockets and pulling out the last coins he had for the room. you realized how bad this looked, so you tried to explain yourself. “i- i know him, i swear.” the clerk just nods wearily, recognizing the two of you from earlier and handing you the key. with help of the clerk, you got arthur into the bed.

the next hour or so you spent wiping arthur’s face down with any cloth and water you could find. he looked bad, face bruised and bloody, clothes ripped, you couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful even in this state. finally, you turned to the mirror to tend to your own wounds, which happened to only be a few bruises on your arms and ribs. you sigh in frustration at the new rip on the side of your dress. you almost didn’t notice as arthur began to wake.

“oh… what… happened?” arthur’s voice was slurred as he sat up slowly, wincing in pain and blinking hard.

“you almost fucking died, that’s what!” your voice was nearly bubbling over with anger as you stormed from the mirror over to him. “and so did i, pulling you out from all those men. you’re lucky i haven’t ran off or killed ya! you’re a fool, arthur. a damned fool.” you were tired of holding back your anger, you were pushed to your limit with him. arthur was looking at the bruises on your arms and your waist through your ripped dress, then up at you with the most puppy dog eyed look you’d seen on him.

“m’ sorry.” arthur’s voice was quiet as he spoke and you watched as a drop of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. “really, you can go. after the hell i dragged you through…” arthur scoffs a laugh and looks to the side. when you don’t speak, or leave, he looks back at you with confusion.

“i’m not gonna leave.” you paused for a while, trying to decide if this was the right decision. “i wanna join the gang.” arthur’s eyes widen at your words, but he nods slowly in response.

“i knew you’d come around” he smiles what you assumed was a genuine one. he then begins to stand, nearly toppling over on you before you grab onto him, steadying him.

“jesus, take it easy!” you push him back down into a sitting position on the bed and lean closer to his face. “i hope you have some doctors in your gang. you’re going to need stitches” you wipe at the blood on corner of his mouth with your thumb and sigh as you observe his wounds once more. when you went to pull away, arthur grabbed your wrist gently. your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes nervously. you didn’t know what he was thinking. his face was unreadable. was he angry? you couldn’t tell. you opened your mouth to speak. you were going to utter your best form of apology for your assumed anger on his part, but arthur silenced you by leaning forwards and pressing his lips against yours. you let out a smothered gasp against his lips, taking a stumbling step back and tilting your head up as arthur stands again. a quiet moan of pain escapes his lips as he leans some of his weight against you. after a few moments of silence, that felt to you like minutes, you pull away, turning your head from him in uncertainty. you didn’t know what you wanted. if this was right. he was dangerous, you knew that, but something about him drew you in dangerously.

“i… i just” you tried to find the words, anything to say to him, but your feelings were like a big tangled ball of string and you couldn’t figure it out.

“i’m sorry.” arthur cuts you off, letting out a cough of pain as he backs off, limping his way to the other side of the room.

“let’s rest. we can talk about things tomorrow.” you watched in disbelief as he laid himself down on the floor by the entrance of the room, pulling his hat over his eyes and breathing deep. you could taste his blood on your lips. you took this time to change into your new night gown and toss your dress to the side. you assumed it would be trash, being unable to sew or afford a tailor.

upon crawling into bed, you fell asleep almost instantly. you missed the feeling of a bed after sleeping on the ground for days. you slept through the entire night, ignoring the throb of your bruises and the commotion of the streets of valentine. when you awoke in the morning, the first thing you noticed was that arthur was gone. the second thing you noticed, was your dress, folded neatly at the end of your bed. slowly, you crawled over and unfolded it, noticing the rip had been carefully sewn shut. with it, there was a piece of paper.

“i’m sorry for what i put you through. you deserve a choice. if you want to run with us, i won’t stop you. if you want to go back to your family, you have my word you won’t see me again.

-A”

upon flipping the note, there was the location of the gangs camp. you knew what you were going to do.

part 2

[darlingdekarios]

so this is goodbye.

rating: mature for canon themes length: 1,752 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, established relationship, hurt no comfort, set in the hours leading up to Arthur's death, mentions of blood (tuberculosis related), canon compliant

Arthur Morgan's most important goodbye - the one he gives to you.

"Let's just go together."

It was an impossible plea - one you knew the answer to long before he turned to face you, blue eyes transparent with the cold truths of the situation. For as many roads as you'd taken together, it seemed the path had thinned - going forward, there was only room for one.

"You and I both know it's too late for that now," his voice was thin, the result of his lungs failing in every aspect - you couldn't stand the sound of him like this anymore. "Even if we ran, I'm on borrowed time. I'd just die on you tomorrow, we both know it."

It was true, there was no denying it - only a fool would try.

"I'd rather you die with me in peace than at the hands of men who never deserved to be in your company," your words fell into the air like shattered glass, broken beyond repair.

"I will die in peace knowing you're safe," he promised, reaching forward to grasp both of your hands in his. It occurred to you this was the last time you'd feel his hands against yours. "But I can't do that if you don't go now, while you have the chance still."

His thumbs ran across your knuckles, memorizing the feeling of them one last time - the same thoughts in your mind echoed in his. You tried to steady yourself, deep breaths in and out to pretend you were okay - the façade dissipated when a quiet sob left your lips, though he'd been waiting for it all along. Just like his death, your brokenness over it was inevitable.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye," you choked out, words squeezed through a throat that felt smaller by the minute, much like the world closing in on you. "I should…I should be with you until the end. I should be by your side."

"They won't allow that. You've been by my side all this time, don't you ever forget that counted for something. Everything we did together counted for something."

Some part of him was glad for all the trouble that was about to be caused so you had to go your separate ways. In truth, since the doctor had informed him of his fate Arthur was certain of one thing above most others - he didn't want you to be around when he succumbed to this cough, despite the fact that seeing your face as his eyes closed one last time would be a dream for any man. He didn't want you to watch him suffer, because he didn't want you to live with that suffering forever.

So now in his final hours, finally in a semblance of control of his own actions, his mind and heart were radiantly in love with you - so much of his remaining energy focused on your ensured survival through another day. He could only be thankful for the time he'd received with you, for every day you'd spent telling him you loved him - particularly knowing he never deserved something as divine as your love.

Any amount of time with you was more than a man like him had earned in life to begin with.

But as for you and your heart?

"It hasn't been enough time. We didn't get enough time, Arthur."

Tugging you forward gently his arms wrapped around you in a hug, the only comfort you'd ever found in this life wrapping you in warmth once more. He was filthy, but that wouldn't stop you from taking as much of him as you were allowed now - your face buried into his chest, arms tight around his torso, clinging to him as though it gave you life.

He pulled away to shed his jacket from his frame, reaching around you to wrap it on your shoulders. He'd always preferred it on you, anyway.

"But the time we did get made me a happy man," he reminded, his voice earnest and truthful, words offering no amount of doubt. "You made me want to be a better man."

His hands came to your shoulders to squeeze gently, holding you against him still.

"I need you to promise me you're not gonna turn that horse around and go back up there after me," his voice was serious, steady - it left no room for disagreement and yet you couldn't help the desire to do just that. "You've got to promise me. You are not to follow me. That's no place for you anymore."

"Arthur, I…"

"Now, I don't want to hear it," he grabbed both of your hands again, squeezing them in his - even now you could feel his strength waning. You were hanging on his every word, memorizing how each syllable fell from his lips - already dreading the day you couldn't remember his voice anymore. "Please listen to me. Those men up there…they're nothin' more than animals now. They will kill you to hurt me, and you're all I have left that they can use. Already lost John…don't make me lose you, too."

There was so much…too much to say in this moment, this goodbye you'd known was coming and yet had sprung so suddenly. It was impossible to pick which words to give him, which words would hold the most meaning - which would make him feel the most fulfilled. They were in your mind like debris picked up by a tornado, far too much chaos to make sense of.

"I can't do it without you. I'm not ready to live without you."

"You're goin' to have to, sweetheart," his hands left your shoulders to hold your face instead, thumbs running over your cheeks as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. His next words were whispered against your skin - his private form of begging between the two of you, one last time. "You go on and you live your life, and you don't ever try to find Dutch or Micah or any of 'em, outside of Abigail or Charles or Mrs. Adler. Forget the rest of 'em. Please."

He leaned away to meet your eyes again - you gave yourself a moment to hold your response purely to enjoy the splashes of color in his blue eyes, knowing no other would compare to these hues again. You nodded, knowing this is what he needed, knowing it was the only remaining peace you could offer him.

"I won't go lookin', but if I see Micah or Dutch again I will put a bullet between their eyes, Arthur," you promised, eyes dark as you spoke the names of the men who he would soon face. "I swear I will, even if it's the last thing I do."

"I know you -"

He was overtaken by a cough, the worst one yet - he leaned against a tree to support himself but you were also there - just as you had been all these past weeks. You rubbed his back as he coughed, reaching upward to smooth his hair away from his slick forehead as it fell about. He tried to motion you away when blood spurted from his lungs, spraying the grass beneath you. You held strong, instead pulling a cloth from your satchel to wipe his mouth.

He loved you with a passion you were certain no one else could come close to matching. You could see it manifested in his eyes.

"You are the best man I have ever known, Arthur Morgan," your words were quiet, movements delicate as you wiped the sweat from his brow as well, pushing his hair back again. One of his arms wrapped around your waist again, a wheezy breath sucked into his lungs as he watched you talk. "You deserved far better than what the world gave you."

"I got more than I deserved."

When I got you.

His eyes gave life to the words he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.

You stepped closer despite the fact he tried to push you away again briefly, ignoring his plea as you wrapped your arms around his torso again, pinning him between yourself and the tree, wondering how long you could get away with holding him there. Almost as if he sensed your thoughts he kissed your forehead weakly, a heavy, raspy sigh huffing from his lungs. You turned your head to kiss his cheek gently.

You both nuzzled your heads together for a moment, enjoying the closeness and serenity of one another for as long as the cruel circumstances would allow. When he pulled away it was to lift you back onto your horse - one he'd gifted you years ago now - strong hands rubbing your thighs one more time.

"You go on 'n' get out of here," his voice was firm, resolute - you had one option as to what to do next. "And don't you dare look back."

He withdrew from you, turning his back to hide the way his Adam's apple bobbed as the threat of tears welled in his chest, something he'd sworn from the beginning he'd never do in front of you. As he climbed on his horse the leather reins shook in his trembling hands, leaving you for the last time becoming the hardest thing he'd been asked yet.

He heard the hooves of your horse as you attempted to retreat, and was painfully aware when they stopped - an immediate fear taking over him that you wouldn't be able to go through with this.

"Arthur," you called out, the sobs chasing the end of your words a hammer to his heart each time. "I loved you. I do love you…I will love you always. Every day."

He turned his horse to you, glistening eyes mirrored by your own as he rode up along side you. He removed one of his gloves to reach out and hold your cheek in his hand, thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye gently.

You would never let yourself cry again.

"So many things I should've done different," for everything that was happening, Arthur sounded at peace with what he had chosen, content with all that he was leaving in the world as long as it included you. "I don't know what happens when we die, but I know if this…all this shit in life…ain't it for us…I'll be waitin' for you."

He released your face to reach for your hand, raising it to his lips in one final kiss. With that, you watched Arthur Morgan set off on his final ride.

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

[orphicrose]

What about rdr2 van der Linde Gang with a reader who stutters? I can imagine the reader being mostly quiet because of it, but at sind point they have to talk and I know people especially back then would make fun of it (Micah) and the gang standing up for reader.

He had it coming ( Camp x Fem!Reader)

Thank you for the request! I did do some research before i wrote this to make sure it was as realistic as possible. But i do apologies if it isn't so please let me know if i wrote it badly!

Warnings ! Micah, bullying, name calling.

---------------------------------------

The sad truth that a lot of people had to face during this era, was that nothing outside of social norms was taken seriously. Things like disabilities, appearances, or even sexuality, greeted with a mocking laugh or worse. Far worse. If you were lucky enough, you'd only be laughed at. But that didn't make it any better. The stereotypical cowboys that you were stuck with didn't make it easier. It's just one of those things you'd either accept or suppress over time.

In this situation, y/n suppressed it. Heavily. Growing up being beaten with insults, or fists because of it. The van der linde gang was somewhat outside of stereotypes, though. A lot of the members from all across the world; black, natives, Hispanic. Then there was Bill, everyone knew he played for the other team, despite the harsh denying and homophobia in return. But the point it, y/n got lucky with falling in with this specific group. Making judgements hard to give.

Y/n's 'issues' lied in her speech, being born with a stutter. It wasn't cute or dainty, it was annoying. What made it worse, the anxiety surrounding it. Sometimes she didn't stutter at all, around people like Arthur or Hosea. But around Micha, it was so much worse. Unbearable, even. The ignorance surrounding that man was almost unbelievable, even for the 1800s.

"Mornin, miss l/n" She was approached by a muscular shadow blocking the sun light from her position on the floor.

"Morning Arthur" Her smile infectious as he took a seat next to her, leaning back against a tree and pulling hit hat over his face. Shielding his eyes from the light. "Busy day today?"

He grunted, shifting in the soft lemoyne mud. "Uncles got a job set up" he failed at suppressing a laugh "Dunno how well it's gonna go."

Y/n chortled, imagining old Uncle out doing some real work. "We-well good luck. I'm glad I'm not joining y'all" her eyes returned to the easy reading of her book that Mary-Beth had lent to her.

Arthur hummed, relaxing in the hot air for as long as he could before his name was called to action.

"Arthur!" That wasn't uncles voice. He lowered his hat to see a nasty looking individual unfortunately strolling towards his direction.

"What do you want, Micah" His voice held hostility, reasonable hostility, as the greasy haired mans face was blinded by a ray of sunshine. Y/n huffed, clutching at the book harder to distract herself.

"Wanted to know what you're ta-ta-ta-talking about" He mocked y/n, without any subtleness about it. Y/n remained quite. It was sad to admit in any situation, but she had grown used to the constant mocking.

"Theres no need for that, is there?" Arthur raised to his feet without hesitation. Moving to get in Micahs face. Any excuse to punch him in the nose was a good excuse in his eyes,

"Now, now, Mister Morgan" The rat put his hands up in surrender, backing away with that smug grin still on his face. "It's just a harmless joke. No need to go out guns a blazin'"

"It's not supposed to be harmless, is it?" Arthurs fists clenched under his anger. Y/n rising to her feet behind him and putting a hand on the back of his shoulder.

"I-it's okay. Ar-Arthur" She mumbled, to which Micah laughed. Before he got the chance to get in the last word. Arthur had landed a heavy hit square in his face. Not wasting any time to wind it up before landing on his nose. Micah fell to the floor and began wailing about how his nose was broken. An audience soon formed around the rat writhing on the floor. Not much sympathy to be shared, but knowing glances at one another. Quiet laughs and 'he had it comings' shared between them before Dutch marched over. Clearing the group and making sure he was ok.

"Arthur, we've talked about this"

"I know, i know Dutch but-"

"The last thing we need right now is our gang turning against each other!"

Y/n could hear the two arguing in Dutch's tent, biting at her nails with worry. It was her fault, she thought. A hand landed on her back, spinning to see tilly with a sad smile.

"Its okay" She offered. "That rat had it coming. Arthur did everyone a favor" just thinking about him on the floor, in pain, brought serotonin to her.

"I-I guess" y/n mumbled

"No need to be ashamed, darlin" she took y/ns hands in hers. "you're perfect as is".

[azures-bazar]

Morgan, you fool

(yes I wanted to give this a try)

Please excuse my mistakes, English is not my first language (French feller here)

Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutral!reader

Word count : 2.1k

Short summary : Arthur Morgan is completely drunk at camp and everyone is pissed by his attitude, so you're actually called to take care of him.

A/note : Arthur's tent has flaps for more privacy !

Tags : fluff, cuteness, drunkenness, Arthur's puppy eyes, chapter 2, Arthur is SOFT, trust issues, hugs

"Y/N !"

Ms. Grimshaw’s voice sounded behind you, you couldn’t hide anywhere. Almost everyone was asleep, but not you. You loved spending time smoking near the cliff of Horseshoe Overlook’s hideout, gazing at the stars when the moon was not shining. You had been rescued by the Van Der Linde gang over a few years ago, and Ms. Grimshaw calling your name had always triggered your sudden desire to hide in a tree and never get down.

There was no way out of her call, only falling forward... and you certainly did not want to die. At least, not yet. You turned back, noticing that Ms. Grimshaw was waiting for you, hands on her hips, standing near Arthur. You noted how drunk he was, he was barely able to stand on his feet and was singing something in another language but English. He had been on a night out with John, you almost did not bother when you saw Marston coming back alone. Arthur had just arrived. And he was singing a song in Spanish with a broken voice, loudly enough to wake the whole state up.

"Could you take care of Arthur ?" Ms. Grimshaw asked you. "He’s drunk like a skunk and is too noisy."

"What ?" you shrugged. "Why me ?"

"Cause you’re the only one awake who's not on guard duty, Y/N ! "

You walked closer to Arthur who nearly fell on the ground as he noticed you were about to drag him to his tent. You had no time to question anything, Ms. Grimshaw had already vanished somewhere, leaving you alone with a drunk Arthur who could not stop singing la Calandria. Javier might have taught him that song.

"Ay Dios, no ay remedio, ay Dios, no ay Piedad !" Arthur shouted

"Shh…" you whispered, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "It’s late !"

"Me robas el reposo !"

"Arthur, please."

"Y adiós tranquilidad !"

You chuckled, listening to his sudden high voice, his laugh as soon as he forgot about the lyrics, speaking in a rather strange mixture between Spanish and a very broken German. He clung onto your shoulder, singing continuously until breaking his voice even more. You had never seen him so joyful, so happy to be alive. He trusted you enough to be himself around you, enjoying telling you about his discoveries, showing you his most personal drawings of you while blushing, believing you would hate every single one of them. However, you would often compliment his style, you adored his drawings. But what you loved the most was the smile he rewarded you with whenever you would say how beautiful is art was.

While you dragged him to his tent, you suddenly realised how short you were, and how heavy Arthur was. He was showing some resistance, tripping on nothing, slurring a little before moving forward, still trying to keep you away from his tent. He did not want to stop singing, he wanted to dance with you. All night long, if he could. However, his legs would probably not hold him long enough, his overall state would lead him to fall on the ground and watch the sky for minutes before passing out.

"Aaahaaah !" he shouted. "FOUND YA, Y/N !"

The journey between the Scout Campfire and Arthur’s tent felt endless, since Arthur would, at times, fall on his knees, dragging you to the ground. You would squat down and put him back on his feet, up until reaching his cot on which you gently pushed him, closing flaps behind you while lightening a nearby candle. Arthur laughed to himself, trying to talk to you in a rather strange language that was known to nobody but himself. Noticing he would not undress and was rather kicking his legs with a frown, you sighed and obliged. You knelt before him and took his boots off.

"Let’s get these off, shall we ?" you smiled

Arthur titled his head, you could barely resist to this attitude. Arthur was always quiet around the rest of the gang, never displaying any signs of childishness. However, at this moment, the way he looked at you reminded you of a young man, or a puppy. You took his boots off, carefully unbuttoning his shirt, trying your best not to meet his gaze a second time. Otherwise, you would certainly end up blushing and kissing him everywhere you could. It was hard to resist, whatever Arthur was doing.

"You’re handsome, Arthur." you whispered while attempting do drag one his arms out of his shirt

"No, I ain’t handsome." Arthur responded with a rather raspy voice, still displaying evident signs of drunkenness. "I’m ugly. The ugliest man on earth."

"You ain’t ugly, Arthur. Next time you’ll say it, I’m gonna slap you across the face."

"I’m ug…-"

You quickly rose your hand before Arthur’s face, making him shiver and shut his mouth. You hated listening to him complain about his appearance. To your eyes, and to the eyes of a vast majority of the people who had the opportunity to meet him, Arthur was handsome. Handsome and charming. You would get lost in his blue/green eyes and melt each time he winked or sent you an unexpected smile. To your eyes, he was most certainly the most handsome man you had ever met. And listening to him insulting himself when looking at his reflection was always devastating to witness.

"I’m not ugly." he gasped as your hand moved back to his shirt

"Better."

He did not move a finger, allowing you to slightly undress him. You took his shirt off, removing his suspenders in the process, gently rubbing his skin with your hand. After being done, and mostly tired, you pushed him on his cot, making him rest his head on a makeshift pillow you had bought for him earlier. He cherished this pillow, as well as any gift you would be willing to give him.

Each flower you collected during your travels would be kept on his bedside table, even these small funny shaped rocks you would find by the river. He loved piling them next to him when he was alone and nobody was watching, grumbling and sighing when his construction would collapse, and be overwhelmingly excited when you would bring him another one. You could see how happy he was to see you, and how much he loved these weirdly shaped rocks you kept offering him. He adored seeing you coming to him with a large proud smile blooming on your face, impatient to show him your latest discovery.

In exchange of your various gifts, Arthur would also bring you flowers from his trips, as well as a few antique alcohols. He always enjoyed offering you his drawings, you had a full collection of them in your chest, cherishing every single one of them. You were the only gang member to know how sweet he was behind his brawny stature. Whenever he was with you, you would never get into any trouble ! Everyone would easily be scared by this man, built like a tank !

"Stay with me." Arthur said with a soft voice, certainly not wanting to let you go

You could no longer resist, your eyes met his. You felt like melting as Arthur gave you this puppy look which would win you over anytime he wanted something. You could easily do the same to him, just throwing him some subtle glances which would instantly drag him to you. Just a word and he was yours, entirely. But right at this moment, you were the one that was his. You could not resist to this gaze filled with desperation and love.

"I can’t, Arthur."you sighed, feeling tired. "I need to sleep too."

"Please." he begged. "Stay with me ?"

"Don’t you want to drink some water first ? You must be freakin’ thirsty !"

"I am… Could you get me some water ?"

His weak voice broke your heart. His throat was sore, you did not even think about giving him any water on your endless trip to his tent ! You quickly left his tent, he whined a little before sighing, placing his hand on his forehead. He could not get some water by himself. He knew he would not remember anything from this night, not even being this soft with you. He had always been a bodyguard around you, but you did not mind his rather childish attitude. In fact, witnessing his soft side was not as bad as you thought. He was handsome and adorable at once.

You came back with a glass of water. As you handed it to him, Arthur almost made the glass fall, his vision being mostly blurry. You sighed and smiled, him struggling to grab a glass of water was certainly a funny thing to watch. As soon as he caught the glass, he chugged it without even bothering about the fact that a third of it landed on his bare chest.

"Slow down, feller." you smiled

"Agh, sorry. " Arthur gasped. "I feel like I haven’t been drinkin’ water in ages !"

"Morgan… you fool."

After finishing, Arthur gave the glass back to you and sighed, feeling a little better. However, he could not even more his legs properly. He remained seated for a short while before turning his head back to you. Arthur slowly opened his arms for you to embrace him, you could not leave him anymore. Not like this. His pleading look and teary eyes were so pure that you could almost forget Arthur was a 36-year-old cowboy. Lenny had the same impression when he got drunk with Arthur at the saloon, a few weeks ago. Whenever he was drunk, Arthur was cheerful.

You smiled and took your boots off, causing Arthur to tap the side of his bed with the tip of his fingers. He wanted to rest on you, not next to you. In fact, there was not enough space for you two to fit his cot, and you were certainly not sleeping on him. You knew Arthur was probably going to get up early for his morning coffee, you did not want to make him uncomfortable. You gently moved next to him, Arthur wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head in the crook of your neck. His beard tickled you a little, you chuckled each time his breath would caress your skin.

"Comfy here, Mr. Morgan ?" you smiled

"Hmmm. Yeah. Comfy."

You caressed his back with the tip of your fingers, he chuckled and wriggled a little, begging you to stop. He would rise a little above you and unexpectedly kiss your lips before falling back on you, resting his head on your chest. You were shocked, but still loved it whenever he would kiss you so unexpectedly. Your hand rises above his head, caressing his dirty blonde hair. You have always enjoyed patting his hair, whenever you would be able to reach his head. You loved this silky touch, his short locks running between your fingers. And, despite denying it, he loved it too. Nobody had the right to touch his head but you.

The two of you waited for an hour until Arthur started yawning. His head nuzzled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat had made him slowly drift away into sleep. He loved your embrace, feeling great and, somehow, safe. You also loved it, you loved having him over you like this. He felt like a heavy blanket, you could not catch a cold with him laying above you ! You blew out the candle, he moaned as he felt you moving. You apologised by running our hands into his hair and kiss the top of his head.

"I love you." he mumbled

You shivered, not being sure about what you had just heard. Arthur, saying he loved you ? Nonsense ! He would barely dare kissing you around camp, he knew people would give him a side look, especially Hosea. The latter was very close to you like mostly a father-figure, and sometimes was worried about the way Arthur would approach you. He knew Arthur was somewhat rough and did not really approve anything between the two of you, he still enjoyed seeing you happy. It was all that mattered. Seeing his kids happy was a treasure, his treasure.

"What did you just say ?" you asked, still surprised

"I love you, Y/N."

Arthur’s voice was so weak, you immediately felt the need to kiss the top of his head ore more time. He had never told anything to you, Arthur was really awkward when needing to verbally express his feelings. He knew how to make you understand by his gesture, his embrace, these hidden kisses behind the trees or straight inside your tent, him catching your hand when the two of you were eating… hearing him whisper such a short sentence made you melt.

"I love you too." you whispered back, holding Arthur close to you, enough to break his bones in the process.

[rdrshootist]

THEY'RE LITERALLY THE SAME I CAN'T

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ tags: damsel in distress!reader, reader will have a father daughter relationship with dutch, slowburn romance, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed "Miracle" once she settles in with the gang. THIS IS SET BEFORE THE FLEE OF BLACKWATER.

*:･｡☆ warnings: mentions of kidnapping/attempts of kidnapping, blood and gore (mostly js people gettin shot n shit 🙏🏼 it's rdr afterall.) period typical undertones of sexism. canon typical violence. mentions of animal abuse/neglect

〔☆〕 desc: during a little break at the saloon, you're interrupted by an O'Driscoll who presses a gun to your back and forces you out of the saloon for a kidnapping. the Van Der Linde group comes to your rescue.

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ A WOLF’S BANE P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 2.3k

a/n: hey! this is part one of my arthur morgan x fem!reader slowburn series. i know it starts off a little funky, but i promise you’re in for a treat!! feedback/ideas are greatly appreciated! 🤭🪭 this part is mostly focused on the reader developing relationships with the other members of the gang. (p.s i promise reader isn’t a mary sue 😭 this is just for build up!)

Your hands stay busy loading and spinning the barrel of your duel Widowmakers. They were beautifully customized, and you just purchased a brand new cylinder from the gunsmith. There were elk carvings on the wood handle—your holsters having the same stitching as they rest on your waist under your coat—and freshly polished metals.

You were quietly listening in on the discussions that swarmed at every angle in the Saloon. You’d traveled from Strawberry to Valentine to receive your prescription from Doctor Calloway.

Smithfield has tried a fair amount to ask you out for a dinner, or a horseback ride to Saint Denis, and as much as you loved horseback riding, you declined kindly.

He mailed you a letter asking that you come to his office to obtain it. You caught a stagecoach and paid five dollars for the ride, then took yourself to the saloon first for a quick lamb heart stew, which was something you always made sure to grab upon visiting Valentine, making you a familiar customer with the owner, Mr. Smithfield.

As you stood and adjusted your skirt while stuffing your revolver into its holster that stayed hidden under your coat, a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. Your eyes shot open and you refused to turn your head to see who your threat was.

The man stunk of alcohol, cigarettes, and pure grime, and the scent only grew stronger as you felt his face press against your hair to whisper in your ear.

“Act natural, pretty thing.”

His body closed in against your back with his hip bones digging into your waist. He wasn’t very tall, nor muscular, perhaps about five foot six.

“Do you always greet a pretty woman like this?” You hiss quietly as he twists the gun into your back, guiding you out. He makes sure to snatche your purse from off the table you were seated at—which you didn’t mind too much since you were struggling financially with only about thirty dollars to your name—you didn’t even get to pay your tab off. You hoped Smithfield would understand.

“Shut up and move, girl.” He rejoined.

Undoubtedly, your heart raced in your chest as you both stepped out of the Saloon. There’s another stagecoach with a few other men seated, causing your eyes to widen. This is a kidnapping, not a robbery, you thought, and that was when sweat began to head down from your scalp.

“She’s a good one, Welts!” one snorted. He had crooked and several missing teeth, a lazy eye, and his brown hair was greasy, and he just looked downright disgusting.

“O’Driscoll will be real happy!”

That was when you froze in your place as you were turned around and patted down for any extra goods; the male in front of you had managed to find a pearl necklace from the depths of your dress pocket, and you scrambled to try and grab it from him.

“Please, don’t take that, take anything else.” You were surprised to find yourself pleading to this man. To an O’Driscoll.

Welt’s head tilted and he let out a loud laugh before he took his revolver, slamming the barrel and cylinder rough against your cheekbone, immediate pain and heat surged as it quickly began to swell, and your body twists, landing on the ground with your palms flat in the dirt below you.

You reach one of your hands—that had grains of tiny rocks stuck in your bleeding skin—up to touch your cheek, a quick feeling of regret causing you to yank your head away from the pain.

“You’re a scum!” you try to turn your head, yet he grabs a full fist of your hair and unsheathes his knife, cutting off a thick chunk of your locks. You gasped weakly.

The men above you bursted into laughter while instead tears stung your eyes. “Speak when spoken to, woman,” he grimaced. You feel for the hair he sliced, and your lip quivers. These were definitely Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

Welts gripped your upper arm, and pulled you onto your feet. Accidentally, you rip your dress from your feet getting caught in the fabric as you struggle to stand with the man swinging you around like a lasso.

You feel his revolver get pinned into your back once again as he taps the barrel against you, gesturing you to walk towards the coach. You hesitated, which he didn’t take kindly. You heard the hammer click, and that’s when you caught yourself walking.

“Hello, gentlemen!” an exuberant voice joins in, and you turn your head to look at the man. He was neatly shaven, besides just a bit of clean stubble along his chin. His hair seemed slicked back at the top, even with a black hat, and he was in a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt, a black vest, and black slacks.

His boots were black with brown spurs. He had his hand on his belt, though not over his holsters that you think were home to dual revolvers. You were just about tired of seeing men with guns.

Guns. You thought. I’m as dumb as a rat—you shimmy your arm down to press against your waist, feeling for your Widowmakers. You felt the hardness with your wrist, playing it calm, and cool. Welts was just as dumb, if not more—he hasn’t even realized you were armed, not that you knew how to use them, anyway. Your hand drags away. Most likely, you wouldn’t be able to beat the man in a sharpshoot.

“Now, a little birdy told me you were being not so nice to this innocent woman, is that true?” The black-haired male, being passive aggressive, sends you kind eyes that leave you feeling skeptical.

You notice his friends.

One was in a low ponytail, and had a sombrero on his head, and the other had olive skin and a hat with a small feather in it’s band.

“She’s my wife, she’s drunk, and these men have offered to take us home. Go along with your business.” Welts snarled as he pushed your shins into the step of the stagecoach. Never in a million years would you even think to date or marry an O’Driscoll—especially not him.

His hair was greasy, and there was collected dirt behind his ears. With his gapped teeth, and his uncared for eyebrows. You wanted to murder the ratbag for laying his dirty fingers on you.

“You tellin’ me the little birdy is a liar?” the man asks, his tone lowering.

“Hell is your problem?” Welts’ eyebrows furrowed.

His gun against your back was starting to feel like it was forming a circular mark on your back from the muzzle.

“I surely don’t remember a time where I saw a loyal man pinning a gun to his wife’s back,” another one of the man’s friends appeared. He had darker skin, Native American features, and a braid running down his own back.

His arms were folded against his chest that was covered in a brown long-sleeved tunic.

“Do you know this man, miss?” His eyes drag to yours with a softer expression creasing his features.

Once you open your mouth to speak, you’re silenced with a quick shoulder shove forcing you into the coach.

“She does, now leave us be.” He sat himself down next to you. Your head turns to look at them as your face twists into fear.

There were five men; the black-haired one, the one with the braid, the male with the ponytail, the scarred Scottish man, and another male who was a bit taller and quieter. His hair was more brown, his face was scruffy, and he wore a black gamblers hat.

“Come on now, hold your horses, compadre!” The one with the ponytail waved his hand in the air, though the man standing in the front seat of the stagecoach flicked the reins against the hinds of both of the gray and black horses, causing them to squeal and chase out of Valentine.

Panic surged through you, raising your adrenaline. When you try to crane your head to see if the men decided to leave, your chest is pushed back against the seat by one of Welts’ companions. Suddenly, the one who’d exchanged you the soft look—which you now have come to believe was the leader—yelled out, and all the men followed his command. “Saddle up, boys, we got ourselves a couple’a maggots!”

You heard two, or three, or four, of them whistle a call to their horses and moments later, they were chasing down the stagecoach. You felt a tinge of hope, and trusted that these men would save you.

“Can these sons’a bitches go any faster?!” Welts hands gripped the seat the driver sat on with his head turned over his shoulder.

When the shooting began, you quickly ducked and let out a distressed noise. Bullets flew all around you, and you covered your ears. You looked up, and immediately the driver had a bullet pierce his skull. You screamed, some of the red paste splattering onto your face. The driver fell off the front of the coach, and you gasped as the wheels ran over the body, the lump making you wobble. You lift yourself up, and take a hold of the seats to stabilize yourself.

The horses stressed, unsure what to do, and you looked around frantically. Another one of the men attempted to cross over and take hold of the reins, but he received the same fate, instead his body leaned over yours, and you pushed it off the edge before it toppled on you.

“Girl!” One of the men yelled, catching your attention. “Do ya know how to drive that thing?!” His accent was thick, and his voice was deep with a slight rasp. You’d gotten a more clear look at his face now that it wasn’t half-covered with his hat. “I said, do ya know how to drive it?!” His horse sped up along the side of the coach, and you frantically nodded your head. You used to be a Stagecoach Taxi at fourteen. You just hoped you still had it in you.

You tore the fabric of the hem of your dress some more until the fabric stopped just above your knees, then hopped over before you’re pulled back by the neck; a man’s arm choking you and smashing both sides of your head as he squeezed his arm making you fall back onto the floor. “Stupid bitch,” the man huffed and grunted, shooting off a few rounds.

“Arthur, Arthur, no!” the leader yelled from behind. “You’ll risk shootin’ her! Put that gun down!”

He was right; the coach was teetering from side to side, and would be sure to tumble off the edge of a cliff if it were to get close enough.

They’d be sure to go off-road with the horses only knowing to go in one direction at the speed they were currently.

These horses were abused, whip welts covering both their hinds and backs, it was disgusting.

You sputtered out a few coughs as the man cut off your entire circulation, your fingers to pry at his arms and your nails scratch at his skin.

He drops you and you slump onto the floor. You hit your head on some metal, yet quickly recover. While the man is distracted, you throw your head at his pants and bite on his groin through the slacks, immediately, he lets out a yowl and accidentally pulls the trigger of his Litchfield Rifle as he falls off the carriage, which ricochets off a steel base, and strikes your shoulder.

A cry leaves your throat and you slap your hand over the wound. Blood seeps through the cloth of your ruffled top, but you swing yourself back over and take hold of the reins.

You feel your head pounding, but you pull back the reins and attempt to slow the horses down, though they don’t abide. The horses are panicked, unsure how to react.

“Don’t stop the coach!” the man with the feather in his hat, shooting over his shoulder.

”Well, what the hell do I do then?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s more! They just keep comin’!” you turn your head at his words, and your eyes widen to see more O’Driscoll men trailing behind on coaches and horses.

“Jump on my horse!” The man with the striped shirt yells in your direction, and you look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ll grab you, don’t worry about falling, but hurry it up!” His voice booms, going rasp.

“Now! Now!” He pulls back the reins of his horse, causing it to halt, and with a running start, you jump off the coach and onto his horse, his arm pulling you up as you almost fall off the horse’s hind to sit upright.

The horses to the coach attempt to stop at the edge of the cliff they ran too, though the coach pushes them over. You gasp, and turn your head as your hands grip the man’s jacket that was in front of you.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart,” he clears his throat, and turns his horse around. His friends caught up, and their horses skidded to a stop.

“Dutch! What the hell was that for?” The male, who had directed you to not stop the stagecoach, his face was twisted with fury.

“Do you trust me, or not, son?” The man, who now is identified as Dutch, questions him, then elbows you lightly. “John Marston, he’s the hothead if you couldn’t tell, ain’t that right, boys?” He let out a humorous laugh. “Damn straight.” The one with the sombrero howls.

You had to keep yourself from passing out, which failed miserably. “You alright back there, miss?” He nudged your body again. Your eyes began to shut on you, and you slumped against the man’s back, then began to slide off the horse and onto the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Dutch took quick notice of your wounds. “Ain’t any of you tell me she was shot!” He wheezed, rushing off his horse. Everything faded to black.

[wrr000]

Van Der Linde gang when you randomly kiss them - short headcanons PART 2

AN: I'm posting this as fast as I wrote it 'cause I'm afraid of burning out AGAIN. Hope y'all like this! Feedback appreciated :]

»»————-　♡　————-««

Featuring: Dutch, Sean, Kieran, Micah (KIERAN STANS ASSEMBLE!)

Summary: pure fluff (and I mean a BIG FLUFF), kissing on the cheek (just to clarify)

Warnings: none, just really short

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

--Dutch

On one hand he is paranoid and bounty for his head is always on Dutch's mind so it would be normal that he's on high alert even in the camp

On the other hand he's usually reading a book and his thoughts are drifting in the fantasy/idealized worlds from the novels

When you came from behind with a gentle kiss on his cheek he immediately wanted to drew a gun

Luckily he quickly realized it was you *sigh of relief*

"Oh dear-- If you want a kiss just ask, I could have shoot you!"

But he isn't angry, just stressed and tired

After a while he pulls you closer to him into a tight hug and kisses your forehead

Don't feel bad! He knows that you didn't mean no harm and finds it kinda sweet

His little lover wants his attention which means you love him and think about old Van der Linde in your free time

Dutch is sure happy to have you and he's all for your kisses, but would appreciate if you changed the form of affection

You can always surprise him in other ways! Sneaking from behind leave for more peacful times

--Sean

He did not saw it coming, you got him there

BUT Sean would pretend like you didn't 'cause you know--'everybody loves him and he always expect affection' (you know that talk, we all heard it, right)

Inside he's so fluttered and happy and you can tell that by a stupid grin on his cute face

"Oi beautiful, you love me that much that you can last a minutes without me?"

He wraps his arms around your waist, kissing you back

One kiss on the cheek, one on the lips, one on the nose... And there's no end

Boy is just so in love with you that he doesn't want to let you go, not now at least

Little attention seeker will make the most of the opportunity to spend a sweet time with his beloved

Sean adores everything you do and especially when it involves him so please do it more

You trying to surprise him and make him feel loved it's what melt his outlaw heart!

He's always up for your kisses and hugs :>

--Kieran

HIS SOUL LEFT HIS BODY--HEART ATTACK--THE BOY JUST DIED

Everyone is threatening him in the camp so Kieran is constantly very stressed

It wasn't much of a surprise, but he isn't upset with you! He knows that you mean no harm

More like glad that wasn't a Sadie or Bill coming for his head

Big sigh of relief from him, but you felt kinda bad anyway

"Ah--! You scared me, babe! But it's glad to see you"

Smile crawled on his pale, but slighly red face as he gently returned a kiss

This sight broke your heart, so you embraced him, pressing your lover tightly to yourself

He hugged you back of course, it makes him feel loved and he doesn't want to let you go (your body feels so safe to him)

Kieran is really REALLY happy to have you a walking sunshine in this waking nightmare

I can asure you that this boy loves you very much and deeply

He's so happy when you two are close and you're showing him affection, but maybe try not to scare him next time

Try anything but that, you can even surprise him with a nice flower and he would be grateful!

JUST GIVE HIM ANY LOVE AND PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS, HE NEEDS IT

--Micah

You gave him a goosebos, but he would act like the knows you're coming to surprise him

Acting all tough, unphased and irritated just to fool you

Or maybe he was a little scared that he let his guard down and you managed to sneak to him from behind? Guess we will never know

"I knew it was you. Why are you even tryin', cutie pie?"

But on the inside he's kinda fluttered 'cause he can't hide it that your kisses are good

Not to mention that in some way he enjoys you crawling for his attention

He may not kiss you back (maybe in private) , but he pulls you closer to him, placing one hand on your waist and the other on your thigh

Ignore his words and try it next time

In fact, Micah wants you to surprsing him like that more often, but for his own peace of mind he acts like nothing in this world can surprise him

He is an attention seeker and a touch starved bastard after all, he needs to know that you still love him as he loves you

So more random kiss are welcome!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Like Real People Do - Part 1

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur Morgan doesn't quite feel like a person sometimes. Most days he's just an outlaw, a killer, a thief, a bad excuse for a good time. He's been doing this so long; he isn't even sure if he ever wanted to do anything else in life. That is until a barmaid asks him to walk her home and suddenly he gets a slice of normalcy.

Author's note: I can't for the life of me figure out why it won't let me post my whole stories on here. If anyone knows why, please let me know what I need to do.

'What can I get ya, mister?' Arthur grumbles in response before looking up at the barmaid. She looks too clean, too kind, to be here. She smiles and he hears angels singing. Cheeks rosy red, eyes like gemstones, she's pure. But she has the scars to prove she's been her a while. He notices the callouses on her hands, the scars on her arms, and the big scar running vertically through the left side of her lips to her jaw.  'Don't matter. Anything to take the edge off,' he tells her, his words raspy like crumpled up paper. She smiles a little brighter and puts a glass in front of him that she fills with bourbon.  'That should help,' she states and slides the glass over to him. He nods a thanks to her and tries to peel his eyes away to look over the bar. It's quite empty this time of day, then again, morning ain't really the time to be drinking. When he can't find anything to keep him entertained in the saloon, he looks back over to the barmaid, who is cleaning glasses in front of him with a rag that is cleaner than he has ever seen one in this particular saloon. She glances over at him. 'What brings you this early in the morn’?'  'Rough night.'  'I can imagine,' she says with a chuckle.  'Hey sweet cheeks! Can we get another bottle?' Arthur's head snaps towards the two men in the corner who so rudely interrupted their little talk, if you can even call it that. They look beyond drunk, beyond caring. But, the barmaid does as asked and brings them a bottle. 'Yeah, that's what I'm talking about,' the grimey man says when she puts the bottle down. He stands up and pulls the barmaid into his chest, groping what he can for the split second he has her before Arthur pulls him off. Like it's nothing, he pushes the man back into his chair.  'Listen here friend, I do not care about you. I do not care that you are here, I have no quarrel with you. But disrespect the lady and you have got a fight on your hands. Friend. Behave, or I'll make sure that that is your last drink.'  'Are you threatenin’ me mister?'  'No, simply making a promise.' Arthur puts his hand on the small of the barmaid's back to lead her back to the bar. She walks back behind it with a bit of shock still lingering on his face and he returns to his drink.  'Thank you mister.'  'No problem.' 

[sweetflanfiction]

Second Chances

Universe: Read Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur x reader

Disclaimers and Warnings: *spoilers* My BF just finished the game and we couldn't bear Arthur moving on, so...I had to shift the plot a bit ahahaha... Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about 1899 is from google, so inacuracies will be plenty. The reader is on the older side, and identifies as a female.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

• ··········· • ············ •

You found him lying, unconscious, near the entrance of a shallow cave after chasing a runaway horse. Mac, your shepherd dog, kept barking and you thought it was the stalion that scared him, surprised to find a full grown man lying half dead on the rocks.

You got off your own horse and approached the man, rifle in hand and eyes darting back and forth, waiting for an ambush. He wasn't moving, his face wore a peaceful expression with his eyes closed. Faded bruises matted his face. The only thing telling you he was alive was his chest slowly moving.

Shushing Mac you poked the man with your boot, waiting for any movement or for him to open his eyes.

"Hey buddy?" You ask, shaking his leg with your foot. Nothing. "You need help or...?"

Taking a deep breath you shook your head and went back to your black horse, Dusk. You were about to mount up, your foot already on the stirrup, when you heard a groan and a cough.

"I...." You turned at the sound. His eyes were still closed. "...dead?"

Mac ran to the man and whined near him as you grabbed the water canteen from the saddle bag. You took three big steps to kneel next to him.

"Not yet, friend..." You poured a bit of water on his dried lips and he opened his mouth to drink some of it.

"Sick..." He coughed and you nodded. 

"You want the doc?" You asked, moving his hair out of his forehead.

"He always had a plan..." He coughed again and turned limp.

Touching his neck, you could feel the faint rhythm of a heartbeat. You were torn between leaving here and taking him with you. He seemed sick and told you as much, but you couldn't leave a living being alone in this place, not with the night falling. You rubbed your forehead under your hat and groaned. 

It wasn't easy making a makeshift stretcher, but you managed to do a decent job with the scarce resources around you. Looking at the man, he coughed softly and you grabbed your bandanna, wrapped it around your mouth and nose and walked closer to him. You started by grabbing his shoulders and dragging him to the improvised bed. He sure was heavy, taking a few minutes to get him on the stretcher and secure him. By the end you were sweating, breathing heavily, while the big man lay unconscious.

"I'm sorry mister, but I can't leave you here to die." You finally said apologetic and patted his shoulder, before mounting up and clicking your tongue making Dusk walk towards the ranch.

• ··········· • ············ •

His dreams were filled with forest creatures and voices, some familiar and some brand new. In his mind, he was already dead to the world and did not really care about much of anything. He found peace in the end. His deer friend was walking around him, closer than ever, so close he could almost touch the creature. A small bark scared the magical creature and the cowboy cursed. 

• ··········· • ············ •

"Mac!" You hissed at the black and white dog who tilted his snout at his name being called. "Come on!"

The small animal happily walked out of the guest room, following you downstairs where you could hear two voices talking amicably. You turned the corner and walked into the parlor, smiling at the two men sitting there. 

"Ah! Miss Graham. I was just telling your father that your guest seemed to have been the victim of a crime." Doc Brant smiled back at you. He was a tall and slender fellow, his thin face adorned with a curled mustache and small round glasses pinched on his nose. He was a friendly fellow, with a strange sense of humor, but no malice behind it. 

"Really?" You scrunched up your face as you sat on the arm of your father's armchair, Mac finding his spot next to you, lying at your feet.

"Seems to have been the victim of an attempted drowning." He chuckled when he saw your eyes grow wide. "I'm just joking. His lungs seem to have a bit of trouble working. I can hear slight fuzzyness in his breathing and he seems to be fighting a fever..."

"Fuzziness in the lungs....TB?" Your father said between puffs of his cigarette.

His voice echoed fear. He was always scared of it, since your mom had passed from it. He was the opposite of the doctor. Big, brawny, tough farmer, manly man. His face held his years well and his cheeks were always rosy from the sun. He sat comfortably in his arm chair, one hand stroking the large greyhound beside the chair.

The doc tilted his head, his eyebrows raising a bit on his forehead as if thinking about something. His expression changed after a while and he shook his head in a convincing manner.

"Nah. If anything he seems to be coming out of a big round of the flu." He finished the glass of water he had in his hand and placed it on the table. "He might have been food for the coyotes if you hadn't picked him up."

"Well, if there's one thing Miss Graham over here is proficient at, it is picking strays." He joked, patting your leg.

"I don't remember you complaining before. 'Sides, every stray and get seems to help us up to this point." You smiled and fetch the glass. "Is there anything we can give the man to make him comfortable?" 

"I'll get Mrs. Brant to make you some medicine today and you can pick it up tomorrow evening. Until then...just help him fight the fever with some cold water to his forehead and wrist. If it spikes too much, throw him into a tub filled with cold water. Also, he seemed dehydrated because of the fever and his previous address, so get him some water and some food that is watery."

You and your father nodded at the instructions. Your father pushed himself out of the armchair to walk the doc outside, while you headed to the kitchen, hearing Mac following behind you.

Mac was one of the many strays you brought back home. Your father always joked that you were a magnet for creatures in need. Cats, dogs, deer, horses, birds and now people seem to appear on your path when they need help. The dog at your feet limped towards you one day when you went to the general store in town. He was whining, his tail between his legs and could not, for the life of you, leave the pup there. The other dog, Luca, a big lanky hound that never left your father's side, wandered into the ranch one night, his ear half bitten off and his left eye blind.

"You reckon he's gonna survive?" You heard your father come inside the kitchen and sit at the table. 

"Hope so..." You said honestly and turned to him, leaning your back against the simple kitchen counter. "You think his people left him to die on the rocks?"

"You said he was peaceful, so maybe he wanted to die there." You made a face at his words.

"I don't get why people quit fighting to live. According to the doc he had a flu. I had the flu, it ain't nothing to write home about..."

"You're lucky. Your momma was watching you up there." He pointed to the sky. "People die from the flu, you know that. Especially if they don't get treated. And he didn't seem to have any money on him. Maybe his people had left him there for their own sake." 

"I know..." You sighed and grabbed a pot. "Chicken soup for dinner?"

You heard your father chuckle and stand.

"I'll get the eggs. Come on boys." He whistled to the dogs and both pets ran outside.

• ··········· • ············ •

The deer kept circling him, but every time he got close it ran away. He saw it lying down in a patchy grass meadow and walked determinedly towards it. The deer meant peace, a quiet death he didn't deserve, but craved. He deserved to die in a ball of fire for all the crap he had pulled, for all the shit he had endured.

Maybe that's why it ran. Because it knew he didn't deserve peace and quiet.

"I have a plan Arthur." He turned to the familiar voice, half in anger, half in fear.

• ··········· • ············ •

[6emo6zombie6]

heyyyy!! I was wondering if you could write about adult Jack Marston with a fem reader who is reserved, and quiet? Abigail and John are alive and Jack invites her over to beechers hope for dinner with his parents, can you write about each of their perspectives on her? (like what they think about her, her personality, etc.)

also, I wanted to thank you so much for you answering my other requests, youre such a good writer like AHH <33.

Hiii!!! I hope this is what you had in mind, had a little delay again because of school stuff ;(

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The lion and the lamb ~~~~~ Jack Marston x reader

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“And… you’re sure they’ll approve of me?” You asked for what seemed like the millionth time to Jack. You’d agreed to let him pick you up to formally introduce you to his parents and have dinner with them. Your anxiety had started to peak once Jack rode the two of you onto Beecher’s Hope, the house in the middle of the plot nearing.

“Yes,” Jack answered with a soft sigh. “I’m sure they will, my sweet. Nothin’ to worry about, okay?”

“Okay,” You nodded to yourself, chewing on your lip as you held onto Jack.

It wasn’t long before his horse came to a stop in front of the house. He got off with a swift motion, then helped you off like a true gentleman. You fixed your dress before walking up toward the porch, Jack’s mother and father already standing on it.

His mother looked like a sweet, yet somewhat stern woman, beautiful as can be. His father looked as rugged as him, their faces nearly identical.

Jack promptly introduced the three of you.

“This is my mother, Abigail—and my father, John.”

You gave a soft nod, shaking their hands before engaging in small talk.

Abigail was surprised at how soft and proper you spoke, not to mention the nice dress that made you look overdressed next to Jack. She wondered how a gentle soul such as you had been able to tame her rugged, gunslinger of a son.

Besides that, she was also intimidated, though not showing her worry as she spoke. You looked well-mannered and rich—her ranch must be a dump compared to the place you lived in. Even in her nicest evening wear she looked like a pawn next to you.

John, on the other hand, was proud of his son for finding a girl so gentle. He’d always been afraid of his son falling back in with the wrong people, that life was no longer one he wished to pursue. Jack looked more than happy to be with you, and somehow you had managed to break down his walls.

“Well,” Abigail broke a short silence, taking a last peek at your attire. “Let's head inside, then. Dinner’s cookin’.”

You glanced at Jack as he led you inside, the house smelling like leather and wood.

“You two can sit,” Abigail smiled, walking along the hallway to prepare the food. John stood in the living room, his hand resting on his gun belt awkwardly. He looked at the hallway in search of his wife, clearing his throat when he realized she wasn’t there.

“So,” He began, taking a seat at the table together with you and Jack. He sat opposite of you. “Jack treatin’ you right?”

Obviously, John was concerned about whether or not his son was treating his girlfriend decently. He wasn’t raised to think differently.

You blush softly.

“Yes, sir.” You nod, glancing at Jack.

“Good, good.” He nodded. “If that boy ever hurts you, you come to me, alright?” John could tell you were a frigid girl, someone he never expected to be with his son. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect you, the same urge you knew from Jack. He seemed to always be protecting you from other people, always treating you like you were about to break in his hands.

Jack gave his father a quick, slightly annoyed glance. John didn’t notice the glance, he was too busy inspecting you and trying to read you. You were a tad mysterious and hard to predict, seeing as you were so quiet and awkward, though you seemed to be at ease at the same time.

A few moments went by in silence before Abigail walked into the main area of the house, carrying two plates of stew. She placed the two plates in front of you and Jack before walking back to the kitchen to grab a plate for John and herself. She sat down at the table with a somewhat pensive expression.

“Thank you,” You smiled softly. Abigail couldn’t read whether or not you were truly thankful or just polite, but she smiled back anyway, going with the former for her comfort.

“Well then, dig in,” She said in a high-pitched tone, straightening her back as she scooped a spoonful of stew in her mouth.

“So,” She spoke up amidst the scraping of spoons, looking at you as you properly scooped away from yourself and blew at your food. “Tell us about yourself--what are your parents like?”

You take a quick bite before talking. Your voice was soft as you grew slightly anxious, three pairs of eyes fixed on you. “My mother’s a fine young woman,” you spoke positively, seeming to cheer up at the thought of your mother. “Daddy left us when I was just a girl… left me and momma with little money.” You spoke softly, failing to look either of Jack’s parents in the eye.

“But you’re uh… financially stable, as of now?” John asked, not aware of how rude of a question it was. You caught a glimpse of Abigail nudging her husband, making him shoot a confused glance at her, then at you.

“Uhm,” You blush, not entirely sure if that was an appropriate matter to discuss over dinner. Maybe it was, you weren’t usually all too social.

“We—we aren’t all that rich,” You stated sheepishly, taking another bite of your food.

Abigail gave a confused glance, though her face became neutral again as she realized her expression was slightly rude. She could’ve sworn you were a rich girl, she’d already imagined you living on some plantation with your family.

You caught her glance just in time, knowing she was puzzled by how you looked like you were part of a higher social class than she and her family were.

You smile softly, looking down with a blush.

“My momma’s very concerned with looking proper…” You mumble, shrugging lightly. “We ain’t got much to spend but she likes us to look like we do.”

“hm,” Abigail hummed, her expression softening now that she felt less pressured to impress you. Part of her wanted her son to marry into a rich family, but the part that wanted him to simply be happy had the upper hand.

“You’re a fine young lady,” She smiled, a genuine, sweet smile spreading across her cheeks. “My boy could use a well-mannered girl such as yourself.”

Abigail saw herself In you in a way; a young, slightly lost girl who’d somehow gotten herself mingled in the trance of a gunslinger. She could tell you were tough behind all the layers of shy, polite mannerisms. In a way, you were much like her son, yet the opposite.

“what is it you… uh—do in your free time?” John asked. He didn’t care about your answer, but he felt that he should know you well before you married his son, as one should. He was almost certain you were the one for his boy, the two of you could learn a lot from one another.

“I help my momma with chores,” You reply, shrugging softly as you realize you actually had little free time, all your time away from home and work was when you were together with Jack. “I don’t got much free time, me and momma both work since there ain’t no man in the house.”

John knew you left out the part where you hung out with Jack all the time. He was aware his son wasn’t always helping around the ranch, and he always came back smelling faintly of ladies’ perfume. He saw no harm in it, though. He knew you were safe with Jack.

“I admire that,” Abigail smiled, somewhat impressed. She didn’t know many women who worked to support the family. If you were to stay at their ranch, she was sure you were more than capable of helping out.

You smiled back and looked at your plate as you started to blush. You weren’t very used to getting compliments or praise from anyone other than Jack, even if he was stubborn and generally not good at showing his emotions. You grew shy again, taking a few bites of your stew.

Jack noticed you retreating into your shell, so he took the lead and started talking about you. It wasn’t long before he started rambling on and on about you, switching over to another subject, then back to you again. You stayed silent and focused on your food, nodding and humming when Jack said something that was correct. You answered a couple of additional questions that his parents asked, keeping the somewhat awkward conversation going until all of your plates were empty. Abigail promptly cleaned off the table and John followed her to the kitchen, using the privacy to talk about you.

You sat up and straightened your dress, making sure you hadn’t spilled anything on yourself. You never understood why your mother made you wear such bright colors, knowing you would get it dirty.

“It’s best I go now,” You say sheepishly, afraid Jack might judge you. He never did, not once. “Momma told me to be home before sundown.”

“Right,” Jack nodded, getting up out of his seat. He stared at you for a few seconds, taking in how gorgeous you looked. He hadn’t even told you that.

“You look like an angel,” He said with a soft smile, a few strands of his greasy dark hair hanging in front of his eyes. His words made you blush and look away. He leaned in and softly kissed your cheek, causing your cheeks to heat up even further.

“Come on, let's say goodbye and I’ll ride you home,” He took your hand and led you to the kitchen, where you thanked his parents for the meal and exchanged your goodbyes and goodnights.